


An Old Song, Re-Sung

by Mira_Jade



Series: A New Song [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: (And Obi-Wan stays his classy self), . . . almost, . . . from a certain point of view, Alternate Universe, Character Study, Clone Rights, Dreams vs. Reality, F/M, Family, Force Visions, Friendship, Gen, Gratuitous Use of Legends Backstories, In Memory of Fives, In Which Anakin is not Quite as Dumb and Sithy, In which the author takes great delight in poking holes at Ep. III, Shaak Ti: The Ultimate Sheb Kicker, The Anakin That Could Have Been, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Padmé We Deserved, Wee Jedi tots Luke and Leia Skywalker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 00:04:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 37,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10887723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mira_Jade/pseuds/Mira_Jade
Summary: Even as Darth Vader, Anakin Skywalker dreams.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, dear readers, and welcome to this latest endeavor of mine! Believe it or not, _Star Wars_ was the dear obsession of my childhood, and the Expanded Universe was the fandom that introduced me to fanfiction forever ago in the year of 2003 - back in the heyday of the great Luke/Mara epics, when the NJO and Sith!Jacen was the biggest thing we fans had to gripe about. So this galaxy far, far away has always been near and dear to my heart. I've recently finished binge-watching TCW on Neflix thanks to the insistence of a dear RL friend - what can I say? I was leery after the highs and lows of the PT and being less underwhelmed by both the New Canon and ST. I dragged my feet for a couple of . . . well, _years_. Yet I'm once again smitten with this world and happy to be so. It's wonderful to play in Lucas' sandbox again.
> 
> As a second note, this was written for the Celtic Song Challenge over at the Jedi Council Forums - my home away from home since my teenage years - and was first posted there in its entirety. For the roulette, I received Yeats' poem _"Down by the Salley Gardens"_ , which is where my inspiration for the plot and the title came from. As this story is already written in its entirety, I'll have the next two updates out in short order. So, stay tuned.
> 
> I thank you all for reading, and I hope that you enjoy!

Always, Anakin Skywalker had dreamed. More than stray thoughts or fragments of memory reconstructed by his mind during the unwaking hours, his dreams were tangible. They were things previously unseen, seen, with the Force coursing through its chosen vessel to overfilling, and then spilling over to give birth to visions.  
  
As a child, he'd dreamed of freedom and the skies, of fresh cool air and liberty. He dreamed of returning home to the barren world of his birth and breaking the same chains on others that he himself had escaped. Visions, he'd heard said so many times that he thought to understand, came true in their own way, in their own time. _Ever in motion, the future is._ Yet, unlike most of his premonitions, this was a vision that never came to fruition, and he could not imagine it coming true from his hands now. Perhaps, that truly was a child's dream; the time in his life for useless deeds of service and self-sacrifice had passed.  
  
As a man just over the crest of adulthood, he'd dreamed of his mother dying. Even in the black shell of quasi-sentience he currently inhabited, the outcome of that particular premonition was something he still cared to think of but little. He did not . . . he could not imagine what Shmi Skywalker would say as to the path he'd chosen, and so, he did not long entertain the thought. He put it far from his mind.  
  
No matter his age, throughout the entirety of his life, he dreamed of _her_. Night to night bound them together and forged their connection while neither of them were truly aware of the power at work between them. Once, he had foolishly thought that to be the will of the Force, so much so that when he was finally introduced to her again he felt as if he'd known her for a lifetime. Even she, with her remarkable sensitivity to the Force falling short of a Jedi's acute awareness, had admitted to a similar such feeling. For the brief span of their marriage, on days when he doubted - when he felt the burden of _worry guilt_ over the forbidden nature of their union - he remembered that, and found his footing on solid ground once more.  
  
So, when he closed his eyes at night and saw her _die_ . . . when he saw her pain and felt her agony, with the Force twisting around him in an effort to prompt him into action . . . compelling . . . urging . . . _pleading_ . . .  
  
. . . well, he had always dreamed. From there, he knew when to listen; he knew when to _act_.  
  
And so . . . act he had.  
  
  
  
.  
  
.  
  
Yet, still . . . Anakin Skywalker dreamed.  
  
  
  
.  
  
.  
  
At first, deep in the space station's rotation of artificial night, his unwaking eyes saw a memory.  
  
It was an old memory, now - one so intimately burned into his consciousness that he could not doubt it for anything else. He remembered the dream that started it all, of course: his wife writhing in pain, suffering - _dying -_ as she cried for him to save her. Although he'd only known of his impending fatherhood for mere hours, already the sound of an infant's cries – wailing in fear to echo their mother's pain, and not in the simple way that babies cried – roused a previously unknown instinct, deep within himself. Once loosed from its bonds, that hungry instinct urged him to _defend_ and _protect_ , furiously so. He remembered awakening with his heart racing, pounding out a furious tattoo behind his rib cage as he tried to calm his breathing. Normally, his wife's bed was a place of comfort to him – one of the few havens where he could sleep deeply and without fear of remembered dreams. But, that night . . .  
  
. . . Anakin sucked in a deep breath, and pinched the bridge of his nose with his organic hand. Out of habit, he gently reached out with his senses to make sure that Padmé was still sleeping. With a tentative sort of awe flaring within him, he next brushed a brief Force-stroke over the dreaming consciousnesses she held within her womb. _His children._ For a breathless moment, the hazy sort of contact he felt in return calmed him, but only just.  
  
Not wanting to disturb his wife – she was now deep into her third trimester and resting for the entirety of his family, after all – he slipped from their room and headed towards the common area of the apartment. There, he stared out at the pre-dawn traffic and listened to the quiet murmur of the fountain in the center of the ring of sofas. The stars were impossible to see on Coruscant, but reflected lights from the air-lanes danced on the silver spires in flashing patterns of iridescent mercury; uniquely beautiful in its own way. Beautiful, he admitted, but not fitting for his intended purpose. He let his eyes glaze over the play of light, and instead focused on the whispering sound of the running water. Though he ever had to work to develop the patience for meditation, he understood its purpose and appreciated its power as he let the natural cadence of the water sooth him. He tried to clear his mind, quieting his thoughts and focusing only on his outward senses - so much so that he could not help but hear the faint sound of Padmé's bare feet as she slipped across the floor to join him. His absence awakened her anyway.  
  
Her hands were so small as she rested them against his chest, he thought next. He rarely considered his wife as delicate - how could he, when such a _light_ burned within her? To his senses, she was one of the rare beings that illuminated all around her in the eyes of the Force - the beacon of her spirit shed a light on his own depths, even, bettering the worst parts of himself. Yet, in that moment . . .  
  
“You die in childbirth,” he had finally whispered when prompted, and she stepped back as if absorbing a blow. Her hands fell to her swollen stomach to ask, “and, the babies?” with a mother's instinctive defense for a perceived threat to her child.  
  
A heartbeat passed. One, and then two. “I don't know.” The admittance tore at something deep within him, and he had to concentrate on the soft babbling of the fountain once again. He closed his eyes to the rhythm of the water, and felt the low thrum of the vast city planet at sleep. He could feel the unique throb of its pulse, with its graceful skyscrapers stacked high atop centuries of compressed generations in its rotting underbelly beneath. _Beauty and decay . . . new and old . . . life and death._ Against it all, the little stream of water stubbornly flowed.  
  
When he folded his arms about his wife, she tucked in against him, conscious of the weight of her stomach and shifting so that she could embrace him properly. Feeling her, feeling _them_ , Anakin could not help but hold on tighter.  
  
No . . . _no_ , he thought quietly. This was his, something of his very own, and there was not a force in the universe that could take them from him. He would not allow it.  
  
“Perhaps . . . ” when she spoke, Padmé's voice was very small. She whispered into his skin; he could feel the warmth of her breath. “Don't you think it's time to tell Obi-Wan, at least? If this is a vision, and not a dream, then maybe . . . maybe he could help us?”  
  
_“_ _We_ _do not need_ _him_ _for this,” he had said –_ _this he remembered clearly_ _. “_ _Our babies are a blessing,”_ _he had firmly declared . . ._ _a_ _s if Obi-Wan Kenobi would_ _see_ _them_ _as_ _anything but_ _a physical manifestation of his weakness and failure as a Jedi_ _._ _He had presumed with such confidence then, all to arrogantly hide the depths of his own fears. Yet, if he'd chosen differently . . ._  
  
For, in this particular dream, he instead felt as the scared little boy who'd held his mother as she died and thought - _knew,_ even: _I could have saved her . . . I could have prevented this if I trusted my instincts. If I would have just listened . ._. He would never feel that helpless again, even if that meant he had to . . .  
  
“I'll tell him first thing in the morning,” Anakin found himself agreeing instead. “It's time he knew, and . . .” _if there's the slightest chance that he can help me save you, then I'll take it._ _I'll do what must be done,_ he thought but did not say. He focused on that, and only that – refusing to acknowledge the roiling, queasy sort of anxiety he felt for the idea of disappointing his former Master . . . again. To see that all too familiar look in his eyes, to know that the imperfect Padawan had once again faltered when he was supposed to be the saving grace of all . . .  
  
But, no . . . _no_. He was going to be a father – a _father_ , the novelty of that was still a moving power of its own. He would not welcome his children into the world at the cost of their mother. He refused to - it was that simple. With that thought firmly in mind, he held his wife close, and waited for the dawn.  
  
  
  
.  
  
.  
  
Obi-Wan only allowed a second of disappointment and tired, _tired_ acceptance to show on his face before he carefully schooled his features in an expression of calm serenity. It truly _was_ a dream, Anakin thought, when instead of lectures and the bristling, barbed words he was expecting from a Master of the Order, Obi-Wan wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close in an embrace.  
  
At first, he dumbly stood there, shocked and uncertain in his response. Even between masters and apprentices, there were few displays of physical affection ever shown – attachments, even in a teaching form, were cautioned against, and he had gone from a child secure in the knowledge of his mother's love to constantly guessing and yearning without truly _knowing_. Anakin had not realized just how hungry he was for such a simple expression of sentient affection until he was offered it, and then . . .  
  
He surprised himself with just how tightly he returned the embrace. He did not understand the weight of his emotions until his eyes burned, and something that had too long been building deep inside of him wavered as a strong wall about to collapse. No doubt feeling the turbulence of his emotions, Obi-Wan merely held on tighter. Anakin drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and felt it catch in his lungs.  
  
When Obi-Wan finally drew away enough to speak, it was with a wondrous, dumbfounded sort of expression still softening the planes of his face. “You're going to have a child?” he repeated, clearly struggling to make sense of the idea in his mind. He ran a hand through his hair. For a moment, he looked unsteady on his feet.  
  
“Two,” Anakin found himself loosing a raw sort of laugh to correct. “Twins.”  
  
“Twins,” Obi-Wan breathed. And then: “ _Twins,_ ” he was stronger to say.  
  
A long moment of silence passed, and Anakin allowed it to go without words. He knew that it was a lot to process, and he felt that familiar mixture of shame and _worry guilt_ that it had taken him this long to tell Obi-Wan in the first place. So much so that: “Does this mean . . .” he struggled to assign words to an impossible depth of feeling. “Are you - ”  
  
“ - oh, don't misread me: of course I'm mad,” Obi-Wan did not let him complete his sentence. Even so, Anakin did not feel anger from him – not true anger, at least. There was disappointment and frustration, yes, all bound together by a smarting, _bruised_ sort of pain that he had not been trusted with this knowledge beforehand. ”I'm furious, even, that you didn't tell me sooner. You've born this on your shoulders for years now, _alone_ while fighting this dreadful war. I . . . I could have helped you . . . I could have - ”  
  
“ - talked me out of it?” Anakin managed a wry expression to interject.  
  
“Perhaps,” Obi-Wan allowed without any true sort of conviction. “I do not need to lecture you about the Code, and you already well know what the Council will say. So I will not insult your intelligence with that."  
  
Years of religiously chanting the Code and swallowing the dogmas of the Jedi as absolute truths taught Anakin to wince at the words. _There is no emotion; there is no passion; there is no chaos._ But how did he explain that through emotion, he felt peace . . . that through passion, he found serenity . . . that in the violent chaos of the war _she_ was his reason for harmony? For years, he'd tried to give his emotions over to the Force, to simply _be_ and exist as a vessel for it to guide, and yet, when he did so . . .  
  
_. . . my mother_ , a part of Anakin's spirit still mourned; the guilt of that was still enough to overwhelm him. If he had existed _with_ his emotions, rather than burying them to be the proper Jedi that prophesy needed him to be . . .  
  
. . . would the way he felt be so dangerously close to swallowing him now?  
  
It was a heretic stance to take; his merely indulging such thoughts dubbed him as worthy of expulsion from the Jedi Order. Yet, once thought, it was an idea - a growing certainty - that he could not so easily cast aside.  
  
He wondered what Obi-Wan was thinking, then - a part of him foolishly hoped that he understood, even slightly, what he was going through. After everything they had endured, after everything they had seen on the frontlines . . . didn't a small part of him ever wonder, and through that wondering _doubt_?  
  
. . . or, was Anakin alone in that imperfection, as well?  
  
"Yet, Anakin . . .” Obi-Wan finally wrestled with a decision, deep within himself. “Though it should not, though it goes against everything we are taught . . . for the first time in far too long this is something that _feels_ right. If you would have brought this to my attention before the war, I fear that I know what I would have said . . . but the war _has_ happened, and it . . . it has clouded so much. Everything the Jedi touch seems to cast a shadow as of late, and sensing the right path has been all but impossible – even for the most powerful amongst us. But this . . . this is only _light_. I want to trust that light, believe me I do. And yet . . .”  
  
. . . the brightest of lights cast the darkest of shadows. That too Anakin could feel, and that too Anakin knew well to fear. For that, more so than anything else, he had held his tongue for the past three years. But, now . . .  
  
The shadow then felt further away than every before – hazy, even. Against his senses, he could feel a shifting of balance. In that moment, he felt more certain of his place in the ebb and flow of the Force than he ever had before. His fears did not feel so impossibly overwhelming then, no matter that they still had the ability to rob him of his breath when he dwelt on them for too long.  
  
Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes, and Anakin recognized the general and tactician emerging in his expression through the ease of long familiarity. The war had irrevocably changed them all, he knew, and water was ever attempting to find its level. This was a part of his personality that simply _was,_ now. So, he waited, and quieted his mind to listen.  
  
“The chancellor has made a queer request – he wants you to be his representative on the Jedi Council,” Obi-Wan finally chose to reveal, keeping a careful eye on him to gauge his reaction. He frowned, as if there was more that he was required to say . . . and Anakin felt a strange relief pulse from him, as if Obi-Wan was thankful for what he now did not _have_ to say.  
  
After his initial burst of _but why would he want that? -_ perplexed as he was that the chancellor would insist on so obvious a hand in Jedi affairs when he already had more so than any holding the chancellery since the office _was_ a Jedi-held office - the pride that Anakin felt was a deep, glowing warmth in his heart. To know that the leader of the free worlds saw something worthwhile in him - in _him_ \- was still a humbling, heady knowledge. To know that Sheev Palpatine felt an affection for the former slave boy from a far flung corner of the Outer Rim – an affection that he had latched onto and trusted to sustain him during the worst days of his adolescence, when he struggled to make the Jedi way his own - it assured him as much as it succored him, so much so that -  
  
\- yet . . . _his wife_ , he reminded himself. _His children_. With the threat hanging so obviously over them, he knew what he had to do.  
  
“Though I am honored by the chancellor's consideration,” Anakin carefully chose his words, “I cannot accept his offer at this time.” Though he did not yet know just how his vision would transpire, he knew this for a certainty: he would stay by his wife's side until the twins were born. For years, he had put his duty to the Order and the Republic first in his life, but now . . .  
  
. . . _she_ was his duty too . . . she and his children, and he would not fail them. Not like he had his mother.  
  
Obi-Wan nodded; clearly, he had anticipated his answer. “We will tell him that you are on leave from the Order, then – the Force has shown you a vision, and you have gone to find the answer . . . which is not truly a lie. Before the war, such a pilgrimage would have been a common enough occurrence so as to not raise any suspicion.” He gave a sardonic sort of smile, but there was a sadness about his eyes to say so – for the Jedi had veered so far from their core purpose over the past few years that it was growing all the more difficult to remember back and think on what they once were. At times, even Anakin wondered how they would find their balance again.  
  
But, that was a thought for another time. Before that could happen, they still had the rest of the war to fight in the here and now.  
  
For that thought, Anakin struggled with what he knew in his heart was right, and that which his honor demanded he see through to its conclusion. The war was not quite done with them yet, and to leave such a task unfinished, when all was so close to -  
  
“ - but, with Grievous still at large,” he found himself voicing his thoughts aloud, “don't you need me to - ”  
  
“ - trust me to take care of the good general alone,” Obi-Wan gave a tight smile to assure him. There was a hardness in the blue of his eyes that had not been there before the war, lining his gaze with steel. “I will finish what we've started, Anakin. His time has come; I can sense it.”  
  
With Count Dooku dead – and that was something else he needed to admit to and speak about, to exorcise the rage and _satisfaction_ that had accompanied his execution of the man – and Grievous too eliminated, the Separatists would have lost their two key military players in the conflict. After that, it would only be a matter of time to clean up all of the loose ends from the remaining leaders of the Confederacy . . . and, with the war's end . . .  
  
. . . well, he and Padmé had already discussed coming clean about their relationship once their service during the Secession Crisis was over. Now, that time was nearly upon them.  
  
Strangely, he no longer felt fear for the idea . . . only peace . . . only acceptance.  
  
Yet, for that time to finally arrive, and his family to be fractured before they could even begin to enjoy the fruits of their efforts . . .  
  
“I . . .” Anakin found himself muttering, unsure of how to put his thoughts into words. “Obi-Wan,” he tried again, but he did not have to say anything more than that.  
  
“Dreams are fickle things, Anakin. It is impossible to tell how they will unfold, and, sometimes, our endeavoring to subvert them only ensures their fulfillment. We must be canny, and aware of our actions all the more so, Anakin. You must focus on the _now_ , and trust in the light to guide you,” Obi-Wan rested his hands on his shoulders to say. “Please believe that we will protect your family - _together_. You do not have to do this alone; _you_ are not alone.”  
  
For years, Anakin then knew with a ghosting sort of honesty, he'd felt as if he had been . . . but, even the memory of that time felt as a shadow, twisting and whispering to cast his certainties and beliefs underneath the pall of the dark. He frowned, feeling as if he was trying to move underneath a great weight, as if he was swimming up for the sunlight against the undertow of some great, black ocean. He wanted to breathe again, only, he was not quite sure how to take in air through his lungs.  
  
_Mistrusted by the Council . . . imperfect as a Padawan . . . less than a Jedi and yet so much_ more, _so much so that even_ I _am_ _scared of_ _my own power at times . . . all too easily giving into my anger and fear and yearning and_ love -  
  
“ - is that . . . is that how you have felt, Anakin?”  
  
The training bond they'd long held as Master and Padawan had been sleeping for the last three years – roused only when it was needed in battle to make them a more cohesive unit in the thick of a fray. Now, Anakin found himself accessing it easier than he ever had before – as if it was meant to exist between them, just as it would have had Obi-Wan actually _chosen_ him for himself, rather than grudgingly honoring the last wish of his dying Master in taking him under his wing. Anakin had not first realized just how much of himself he was pouring into the bond, and to feel those emotions returned, and instead countered by . . .  
  
. . . such a fondness, such a _light_ – a warm, richly encompassing glow of pride and affection and _love_. That love was then tinged with dismay – with horror, even – that he had languished underneath such doubts and uncertainties for so long. For, how could he ever doubt what Obi-Wan himself knew to be a defining cornerstone of his own being? How could Obi-Wan have been blind to see, for so long . . .  
  
The same as a rising sun shining on a previously shadowed place, Anakin felt himself fill on the strength of the bond between them . . . and he let himself breathe. For a long moment, he could not speak – how could he, when there was so much more that needed to be said? There was not enough time to say it all - not then, not yet. But, for the time being, just that moment was enough.  
  
“I will not be party to a lie, Anakin,” at last, Obi-Wan gently pulled away to say. “But I will help protect your family until the time comes when it is safe to come out with the truth. Until then, trust me, please . . . as I trust you?”  
  
_Trust_ . . . yes . . . he could trust his friend. After a pause, Anakin nodded, and when Obi-Wan embraced him once more he returned the affection like a child clinging to an older brother – to a father, even. In that moment, his hope was then stronger than his fear, and he held onto the grace of that benediction with all of the tenacity of a drowning man.  
  
. . . and, distantly, Anakin Skywalker continued to dream.  
  
  
  
.

.  
  
_I can go to the Lake Country,_ _and_ _prepare a room for the babies . . . I already know the perfect spot,_ _overlooking the gardens_ _. . ._  
  
This time, Anakin refused to let her go alone.  
  
Of her handmaidens, Moteé was left to stand in Padmé's place for when her presence was required in the Senate. As Moteé was just a physical decoy, however, the majority of Padmé's meetings were canceled and those that could not be rescheduled were passed to Jar Jar Binks. The Gungan sincerely promised to do his best by Naboo, and, in a strange way, Anakin had few worries for his oversight. His clumsiness had an unexpected habit of shaping galactic events for the better, and Anakin trusted the mysterious ways of the Force as it chose its favourites. Padmé demanded an up to date schedule of reports from the junior senator to keep her own mind at ease, but nonetheless hugged the gangly alien goodbye with a tight embrace. Jar Jar, delicate as he was in few things, was careful to fondly return the affection.  
  
Sabé, refusing to be left behind, tucked herself into her mistress' shadow as a devoted, silent protector. When trusted with the gravity of his premonitions, she accepted his visions without blinking an eye; she simply asked what she could do to keep his forewarnings from coming to fruition. Then willing to accept backup in any form, Anakin was grateful for her presence on the crowded public freighter they once again used to conceal their passage to Naboo.  
  
There, anonymous amongst the masses, they hid in plain sight. Anakin kept his hood up until they were safely beyond the Core as a precaution - his face was flashed on the HoloNet as a war hero with some regularity, and he did not want anyone to look at him and draw an accurate conclusion. Between that and Padmé's veiled headdress and strategically draped robes, they were hardly given a second glance. To further conceal themselves, Anakin kept up a steady impression of _move along, there's nothing here for you to see_ in the Force, and they were not disturbed.  
  
Yet, for the most part, it seemed that their precautions were unnecessary. They were far from the only battle-weary family making use of the transports that ambled up and down the hyperspace lanes to the Outer Rim and back, after all. Many were returning home from the capitol, while a sobering percentage of the passengers were war refugees and immigrants heading towards a new life on one of the planets of sanctuary that had opened their borders to those displaced by the war. He mostly sensed anxiety and anticipation rolling through the masses, all punctuated by flares of hope so strong that they rocked as sun-bursts to the immaterial eyes of the Force. It was on those bright notes that he chose to ground his own senses, and he kept his center. _Your focus de_ _termines_ _your reality,_ he reminded himself, and endeavored to make that maxim a truth as he breathed.  
  
Early in the flight, Anakin found a seat for Padmé by one of the less crowded bulkheads, and she curled in against him to find a comfortable position to rest. It felt . . . right . . . to stroke a hand up and down her arm and sense her drowsy thoughts give way to true sleep. As she dozed, his eyes followed the children weaving through the dense crowd in a game of chase. He was lulled by the sound of their laughter, distantly wondering what his own children would look like with age. Would the boy have his grin? Would the girl have her mother's eyes? Once again, he set his jaw and filled on his determination: they would _both_ live long enough to find out. He refused to entertain any other outcome; he would allow only one reality.  
  
It was not until they were almost upon the Mid Rim that Anakin left to find the cafeteria. Padmé had awakened with a craving, and he'd accepted the quest as a convenient opportunity to stretch his legs and scope out the crowd for foul intentions. Soon enough, he'd put together a tray of pickled chasuka greens, sweet and sour nuna, and a bag of puffed scroomchips for his wife to dine on. Proud of his success in fulfilling her requests, though tempted by none of the food himself, he returned to Padmé and Sabé . . . only to find that they had attracted attention in his absence.  
  
After first tensing and preparing for the worst, Anakin quickly found himself relaxing: there was nothing to fear. Slowly, a grudging smile even spread across his face, and he paused to observe the scene.  
  
A tall, stately alien was bent at the waist before Padmé, asking permission to touch a soft, reverent hand to the concealed swell of her stomach. From all of the research he'd done after accepting his Padawan . . . his _former_ Padawan, he still had to correct himself . . . Anakin recognized a Togrutan clan mother when he saw one. He glanced and, sure enough, there was a telling flock of five adolescent Togruta hovering behind her, though he doubted that any were hers by blood. The matron, Anakin drew his gaze back from the young ones to see, was inclining her massive crown of montrals and congratulating his wife on her expecting condition. Though Padmé took great pains to ensure that her pregnancy was not visible to the naked eye, such things were biologically impossible to hide from certain species – and Togruta with their spatial awareness could not help but sense the two fetal heartbeats echoing her own. Anakin took note of the impressive loops of beads and akul teeth decorating the woman's horns, and knew that she was considered to be a revered protector amongst her people. Culturally, words of well-wishing from her mouth would be considered a blessing, and Anakin understood the honor for what it was.  
  
Yet, Padmé was not aware of what Anakin knew. She merely kept to her practiced senator's expression, and fought the clear urge she had – to Anakin's knowing eyes, at least – to tense for the unexpected attention. By her side, Sabé was less gracious with her protective instincts surging to the fore, and she frowned openly. Her hands had fallen to where her knives were concealed by her cloak – but such would not offend the Togruta, Anakin knew. In her own way, she would only approve.  
  
It was with a spring to his step that Anakin approached the odd little gathering and set his gleanings down. Padmé could not quite hold the Togruta's eyes when she was distracted by the food, he fought a smile to see. He could sense her hunger as his vague awareness of his children shifted to express a matching expectation; they were hungry too.  
  
“Greetings,” the Togruta welcomed him, her Basic heavily accented. “Are you the father?”  
  
“I am,” Anakin felt a swell of pride to confirm. The words felt natural to say . . . satisfying, even. He sat down next to Padmé, and took her hand to squeeze in reassurance. He felt the way her fingers tensed before she returned the pressure, but she quickly calmed upon realizing that he sensed no danger. “This is my wife, and this is her clan sister,” he introduced Sabé next. Such was true enough, by Togrutan standards.  
  
The Togruta gave a pleased trill in the back of her throat to hear his words. “My congratulations to you, then. Your mate carries both a strong hunter and a speaker for many mouths in her womb . . you will find great delight in discovering which is which in the years to come. Cherish them, young ones,” for this she looked to Padmé and then back to Anakin to say, “and hold them close. Do not let them go . . . they will be stronger together than they ever could be apart.”  
  
“I thank-you for your words, honored mother,” Anakin inclined his head respectfully, just as Padmé said, “We intend to,” in a low voice, thick with promise. He held her hand tighter, feeling her determination grow to dwarf his own.  
  
The clan mother gave a last warm trill at the sight. Then, with a series of whistles in her own tongue she turned, and her flock of young charges hastened to follow her. Anakin watched them disappear in the crowd, and a bittersweet sort of longing rose in his heart before he carefully tucked the emotion away with the force of long practice. It was not the time for such thoughts . . . not then.  
  
When Padmé did not move for a long moment, he glanced to see that she was still staring at the crowd, clearly lost in thought. He shifted, and pushed the tray of food closer to her. The cacophony of smells was not appetizing to him in the slightest, but he could hear her stomach rumble. The sensation broke her from her haze, and she blinked.  
  
“I just realized . . . she's the first person who has congratulated me for the twins,” Padmé whispered. He watched her eyes fall halfway closed, and he acknowledged the experiences she had missed out on for the necessity of hiding their relationship: the well wishes and the celebrations and the giddy embrace of her family's pride and joy. He let loose a breath at the last thought, knowing that that too was a wrong they would have to set to right when they reached Naboo.  
  
“I . . . understand,” Anakin inclined his head. “That . . . that was the first time I introduced you as my wife to another being.”  
  
For that, Padmé opened her eyes fully, and fixed her gaze on him. A small smile bloomed from the sad corners of her mouth. “It felt . . .”  
  
“Good?” Anakin offered. It was such a small word, incapable of wholly describing the lambent sort of contentment he could feel pulsing from his heart. But, it was accurate enough.  
  
“Yes,” Padmé agreed, her smile stretching. “Very.”  
  
For a moment, Anakin was taken by the happiness in her expression. Her dark eyes sparkled, and he had to duck his head in order to curb his own smile before it grew too wide. “Come on, then – those greens are hardly edible when hot, and they're getting cold.”  
  
“Oh, you don't have to tell me that - it's _your_ son who wants them.” Padmé winkled her nose in distaste. “Why I'm craving all of this vinegar is beyond me when I struggle to keep it down. I always pay for it later.”  
  
Anakin made a commiserating sound in the back of his throat, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. He kissed her temple, wishing that he could do more for her. “You're a good mother,” he whispered warmly. “They'll thank you someday.”  
  
After months of stalwartly enduring the changes to her body on her own, Padmé leaned into him with a boneless sort of grace. She trusted him to support her as she closed her eyes, long and slow. “I look forward to being their mother . . . even if that means I have to eat pickled greens in the meantime.” Though lighthearted, the words were full with a whispered sort of hope, so soft that he first had to concentrate to hear them. But they were words he agreed with in their entirety, and they reverberated in his mind long after their sound tapered off into silence.  
  
  
  
.  
  
.  
  
After settling in on Naboo, Anakin acted as her shield when she broke the news to her parents and sister the following day.  
  
Standing as a bulwark for his wife, he watched their _shock disappointment_ swell and then crest on a wave of _disbelief_ _wonder joy_. It was becoming a familiar cauldron of emotions to his senses, and he chose to focus on only the latter as Padmé cried into her mother's shoulder and held her sister tight. He had not realized just how strong she was being alone until she broke down so completely, safely protected by the warm cocoon of her family's love. Anakin felt a matching sort of peace to feel the healing and contentment soothing across her spirit, and he drank in deeply of the affection binding the small family together. There was no place for dark thoughts of the future when surrounded by such a light.  
  
At least, there was not until Padmé's father came to stand by his side. His arms were folded, and there was a firmness to the line of his jaw that Anakin knew well to recognize: it was an expression his daughter had inherited in its entirety, after all. Reflexively, he stood up straighter, and steeled himself for whatever the older man was about to say. For Padmé, he would bear it with grace.  
  
Yet, Ruwee Naberrie was a canny man more so than a vengeful one, and while keeping a careful eye on the women of his family, be lowered his voice to say to Anakin's ears alone: “There is a danger to my daughter's pregnancy, is there not?”  
  
For nothing less would have drawn a general so far away from the front lines. It was a clear deduction to make - no matter what affection a father may have felt for his wife and children to be. And Ruwee was not a foolish man in the slightest.  
  
“There is a risk . . . I have foreseen it,” Anakin saw no point in concealing the truth – not any more. Not to them. “But, we will face it - together. I am not leaving her.”  
  
A long moment passed before Ruwee nodded. He said nothing more; he only rested a heavy hand on Anakin's shoulder, and then moved forward to take his turn marveling over the advent of his grandchildren. Padmé dried her tears when, but moments later, she felt the twins move, and she placed her father's hand over her swollen stomach in time to feel them kick against her womb.  
  
“The girl,” Anakin was now able to identify in the Force with a fond roll of his eyes. The knowledge was still a heady sort of glow, deep in his spirit: _h_ _is daughter_. “She's going to be a fighter.”  
  
“Her brother's always so gentle,” Padmé smiled with an abject fondness to say. “I've only _really_ felt him move the first time he sensed you.” For those words, she looked over to Anakin, and he felt an overwhelming sort of emotion take root in his chest. For a moment, it was hard to breathe as Ruwee invited him to join the family's embrace. Jobal kissed his cheek as she would a son, and Sola's eyes were soft as she looked at him. But then, she'd long held her suspicions, Padmé had once told him. What she could conceal from her parents was harder from her sister, in a way, as they'd always been close.  
  
All the while, Anakin continued to bask in the contented hum of the Force, and allowed the potent glow of _family home_ to settle deep within him.  
  
The following days passed with him mostly lost in meditation. This far from Coruscant, this far from the front-lines of the war, he found that his mind was clearer; his connection to the Force was stronger. He often found himself lost in thought, probing the depths of the Force to better understand its will and his purpose in fulfilling it. He felt more centered than he had in years as he coasted through the currents of his power to better understand its shape and reason for being, all the while listening to his wife in the next room and grounding himself on the already impossibly bright lights that were his children – his _children_.  
  
Chancellor Palpatine tried to contact him more than once during his time away. Although Anakin first felt a strong compulsion to answer and tell his old friend everything that was transpiring – everything that he feared . . . he did not. The Force whispered its approval for his choice, and when Anakin felt himself wavering, wanting to give in to the blinking red light on the comm unit and -  
  
“ - what do you think, Ani? The green or the blue?” Padmé appeared, holding up two sample swaths of pastel fabric for the curtains in the nursery. The soft yellow tones of the room would need a highlight, and she knew his preference for both. Beyond her, he could hear the laughter of his nieces as they decorated the nursery alongside Sola and Sabé. As far along as she was, Padmé was more of a general marshaling her troops than she was an active participant in the designing, and their sanctuary by the lake was noisy and boisterous – happily so. He could smell Jobal cooking in the kitchens, speaking to her husband in an undertone Anakin could not quite make out.  
  
Ignoring the chancellor's summons once again, he stood from his meditative pose and decided, “The blue. There's already green enough from the gardens, don't you think?”  
  
Padmé nodded her approval, and flashed him a soft sort of grin to say, “Good. I liked the blue too.”  
  
Anakin could not help but chuckle, wise enough as he was to know: “I never really had a say in the matter, did I?”  
  
“Well . . . maybe it was a _small_ say,” Padmé could not help but tease. “But it was still a say.”  
  
Anakin heaved an exaggerated sigh as he walked over to wrap an arm about her waist. “After all these years, I am beginning to understand my role in this relationship: you just want me to stand here and look all _devastatingly handsome_ \- ”  
  
Padmé stood up on the tips of her toes and silenced him with a kiss – a thoughtless gesture of affection that nonetheless had him closing his eyes and carefully committing every sensation to memory. “Mmm, perhaps,” she playfully agreed. Her eyes took on an approving glow as she looked him up and down. “But, I can also honestly say that I love you for your mind. Which you can prove,” she deftly stepped away from the circle of his arms before he could catch her again, “by figuring out the instructions for the cribs. I do know how you love to tinker, after all.”  
  
Alright then: her challenge was accepted. He followed her into the nursery, already feeling the familiar rush that came with the beginning of a new project. “Your wish is my command, milady,” he grinned as she passed him holodisc containing the instructions, and together they fell into a comfortable rhythm readying the room for their children - with the chancellor and his summons put far from his mind for the rest of the day.  
  
  
  
.  
  
.  
  
It only took a day more for General Grievous to fall – but then, Anakin was not truly surprised to hear the news. He had dreamed of it the night before it happened. Here on Naboo, listening to the waves whisper in the cradle of the lake and holding his wife and children as they dreamed, he found his connection to the Force to be an almost tangible thing – he saw more, he _felt_ more. He was learning to trust his instincts; he was learning to understand that which he dreamed.  
  
He still, with a disturbing regularity, saw his wife die when he closed his eyes . . . over and over again. Yet, the premonition felt further away to him now. In motion, the future was, and he intended to send it spinning.  
  
“This effectively puts the war to an end – there will be further battles to fight, of course, but now it's time for diplomacy to return to the forefront in this conflict. To that end, the Jedi Council will ask the chancellor to return his emergency powers, effective immediately.” The miniature hologram of Obi-Wan folded his arms and cupped his chin in a thoughtful expression. “His reaction to our request will tell us a great deal.”  
  
“I'm sure that the chancellor will see the benefit of letting democracy resume,” Anakin did not have to think twice to defend. “He's only remained in power for so long out of necessity – he was asked to, and he could not say no. When asked again by the people, he will step aside.”  
  
In answer, Obi-Wan simply looked at him. Anakin could not quite read his expression before he gave an inaudible sigh. “I do hope that you're right, Anakin.” He shook his head, and then squared his shoulders against whatever thought had so clearly been bothering him. “Either way, we have a few days to consider how to best phrase our argument – we won't move until all of the senior members of the Council can meet with him. We're wrapping up here on Utapau, and Master Yoda foresees an eminent victory with the Wookiees on Kashyyyk. Masters Koon and Mundi booth expect to take leave from their battalions by the end of the five-day, as well. They too will join the meeting.”  
  
“Excellent,” Anakin approved. With so many skilled negotiators voicing their opinions, his friend would surely agree with their reasoning, and all would then return to as it was before the war.  
  
. . . well, in a way, at least. But thoughts of rebuilding and reconciliation were for a later time. Then, there was only the present.  
  
“And . . . you?” Obi-Wan delicately asked on the wings of his thoughts. “How are you doing, my friend?” Even across the distance, Anakin could feel a ghost of warmth whisper across their bond, and he let the sensation ground him.  
  
“I am . . . finding my peace,” he finally answered. “Coming to Naboo was the right decision - and it has been good for me. I've been meditating, mostly – and listening, rather than acting.” His admittance drew an amused expression from Obi-Wan, and Anakin fought the instinctively childish urge he had to role his eyes in reply. “Padmé . . . she's not feeling well today. Carrying one child is no easy task at the best of times, and carrying two is physically taking its toll on her. Her mother and the physicians assure me that all is well, that this is natural so close to the end of her term, and yet . . .” Her misery was something palpable to his senses, and it pained him that he could do no more than hold her hand and keep her relatively comfortable while she struggled with the intrinsic ways of nature.  
  
Then, to remember his visions . . .  
  
. . . but no.  
  
_No_.  
  
“There is an amazing fortitude to the female of the species – one that we will never completely understand, I fear,” Obi-Wan sagely nodded. “Trust her to know what is right with her body, Anakin, and go from there. Unnecessary fear will only cloud your judgment right now, when you need for it to be clear more so than ever.”  
  
“I understand, Master,” Anakin inclined his head. For he did understand – truly he did . . . even if putting theory into practice was more difficult than not, at times.  
  
“Good,” Obi-Wan's expression softened, and the blue of his eyes was kind. “I'll keep you updated as events with the chancellor unfold. I will then make my way to Naboo as soon as I can . . . you won't be alone for this.”  
  
“I thank you for that,” Anakin found himself saying on a deep exhale. Once again, he endeavored to quiet his doubts and instead trust in the familiar pillar of fortitude and serenity the elder Jedi always was. He was successful in doing so . . . somewhat. “May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan.” The weight of his emotions turned the words heavy.  
  
“And with you, Anakin,” Obi-Wan's farewell was gently intoned, and then the hologram flickered away.  
  
Anakin sat back against the couch cushions with a sigh, and scrubbed his organic hand over his face in a restless gesture that the Temple had failed to school out of him as a child. He then heard a whisper of fabric, and a heavy step, before:  
  
“The Jedi are forcing the chancellor’s hand, then?” Padmé asked from the entrance to the room. Her voice held a quiet satisfaction, Anakin puzzled to hear – yet a whisper of trepidation, as well. Uncertainty, too.  
  
“I don't know if I would call it _forcing_ ,” Anakin did not quite agree with her phrasing – even as he surged to his feet to help her move over to the sofa. Padmé flashed him a grateful look, and he took more of her weight against himself.  
  
“You shouldn't be up right now.” Anakin did not need the Force to tell him how weary she was. “You should be in bed, resting.”  
  
“Your _son_ decided to do somersaults on my bladder. So I could not stay in bed,” Padmé waved her hand dismissively. She narrowed her eyes as if her current discomfort was all his fault . . . which, in a way, it was. “Then, after Moteé's latest report from the Senate . . . I could not sleep with my thoughts.” She sighed, and leaned her head against his arm before straightening her back with the full dignity she'd learned as queen and since retained through her public life. “I fear that it is a mountain that the Jedi are about to move against, and I am worried for them,” she admitted honestly. “Palpatine has garnered more and more power for himself, and he's retained it for far too long. Not easily, do I think, will he let that power go now that he has it.”  
  
For a moment, Anakin only stared at his wife . . . he was slow to digest the full implication of her words. He could not quite bring himself to believe what she was trying to say. “Padmé . . .” he started, an edge unwittingly sharpening his voice.  
  
Her eyes flashed at the unspoken challenge, even as her tone and facial expression softened to say, “Ani, you know that Sheev was once as good a friend and mentor to me as he is to you - ”  
  
“ - Padmé, do you realize what you are saying?” Anakin did not let her finish. “Your words could be construed as treasonous.”  
  
“Yes, I recognize the implications full well,” Padmé tilted her chin up, and determinedly held her course. “Anakin, you see the best of the chancellor, and for that I am grateful. But, after working with him day in and day out for years . . . to have all of our diplomatic efforts subverted time and time again, all the while losing more and more individual and sovereign rights as Palpatine _grudgingly_ accepts more power with a burdened sort of benevolence . . . There are too many coincidences to sit back and simply ignore. It's as if some invisible hand is pulling the strings, and we are all just puppets playing along to someone else's whims . . . I am not saying that the chancellor _is_ that puppet-master . . . only, that someone clearly wants him in power, and is willing to take away civil rights and planetary liberties to do so.”  
  
For a long moment, Anakin was silent; he could not speak. He felt his anger rise at the implications of her words – not at Padmé, not quite – and yet, his anger _was_ there. It was drawn from somewhere deep inside of him, as if a thousand little tender seeds suddenly sprouted in the fertile doubts of his mind, so much so, that . . .  
  
There was the hand of a Sith clouding everything – this he knew as well as any Jedi in the Order. Could this . . . could his friend truly be caught up, even unwittingly, in a scheme so much vaster and insidious than any of them yet realized?  
  
His temples suddenly throbbed, and a dark pain blossomed behind his skull. He dropped his head into his hands and closed his eyes to alleviate the pressure building there, but to no avail. He could feel the chancellor's hand on his shoulder as a physical weight then, as if preparing to lean down to speak into his ear and -  
  
“ - Anakin?” Padmé's voice broke through his haze, clearly worried for him. “Ani, are you - ”  
  
“ - I'm okay,” after a heartbeat, he assured her. She had hesitated to say this to him – she had been trying to do so delicately for months, even, but he had not wanted to listen. And, now . . . “I'm sorry for my reaction,” he knew he had to add, not wanting to build more walls between them. “I was not mad at you.”  
  
“It's a painful thing to consider,” Padmé whispered, and he felt a matching wound throb in her spirit. She had loved the chancellor too, once . . . he wondered when that love had faded. He wondered how he had been so blind as to miss it. “I dearly hope to be wrong, of course. But, consider . . . why else would the Jedi gather in such force if they did not foresee the need for compulsion? I know that you've had your issues with the Council, but they are wise men and women who are truly interested in the good of all, no matter their flaws. Just . . . . think about it, Anakin . . . and be careful where Palpatine is concerned. That's all I ask.”  
  
A moment passed, fraught with implication and promise. “Of course, love,” Anakin finally agreed on a whisper. “I'll keep your words in mind.” That much, at least, he could agree to . . . even if it was to protect his old friend when he still believed him to be caught up in something larger than anything they yet understood.  
  
“Thank-you,” Padmé breathed, relief clear in her voice. Her posture slumped, and Anakin could feel her discomfort building from where she had too long ignored it, once again. His worry for his wife taking precedence over his worry for the chancellor, he gently swept her up in his arms, and moved to return her to bed.  
  
  
  
.  
  
.  
  
That night, Anakin's dreams were odd, twisted things. He visions came in fragments: flashes of white plasteel, and the blue glare of plasma-fire, reflected over and over again on a thousand different worlds. He saw himself, cloaked and hooded, his face lost in shadow as he led a massive column of soldiers into battle – _his_ soldiers, proudly bearing the blue standard of the 501st legion. He could feel the rise of their blood as they marched in perfect unison, but there was no speech amongst the ranks; there was none of the familiar banter or proud war-cries he'd since learned to expect and make his own. Instead, his men were silent, so _horribly silent_ as they marched across a peaceful - _holy_ \- ground, and then, at his command -  
  
\- inwardly, a million men screamed as, across the galaxy, a light went out. While he -  
  
\- Anakin surged to awareness with a wordless cry still trapped in the back of his throat. At first, the natural dark of the night sharply warred with the jarring unreality of his dreams; he could not find his breath as his heart hammered out an intense rhythm in his chest. In a now too familiar force of habit, he forced his lungs to fill, slowly taking in air through his nose and exhaling deeply out through his mouth to find a rhythm again. It took him a minute, then two, but he found his center. Slowly, he recovered his balance.  
  
Finally, he could open his eyes without seeing untoward shapes lurking in the shadows . . . watching . . . _waiting_.  
  
Turning, he then noticed the blinking comm unit on the bedside stand – the impetus that had first awakened him from his nightmare, it took him a moment to understand. That small, flashing red light helped further slow his pulse, and with a stern force of will he pushed his dreams aside. He'd meditate on them later; in that moment, the here and now had need of him.  
  
It was still some hours before sunrise by Naboo's time, his brain still fuzzily processed, but by the rotation of Mandalore, the New Mandalorian capitol of Sundari was fresh into its morning cycle. Looking at the call-code, understanding dawned, and -  
  
\- he knew who was trying to contact him.  
  
Recalled by his duty, he put the signal on hold with a gesture. He then quickly rose, and, after making sure that Padmé and the twins were comfortably sleeping, he shrugged on his robe and moved to the common-room to accept Ahsoka Tano's call.  
  
_Ahsoka's call_. The thought was still enough to inspire a breathless, bruised sort of sensation in his chest. When he and Obi-Wan were recalled to Coruscant by the kidnapping of Chancellor Palpatine, Anakin had left his former apprentice with Captain Rex and a company from the 501st to put down Darth Maul's latest machinations on Mandalore. He hadn't thought twice about his decision at the time – instead, he'd simply trusted his instincts, and those instincts now surged to the forefront of his being as she swam in a haze of familiar blue light before sharpening in the holofeed. _His Padawan_.  
  
It felt . . . _right_ to see her standing there in command again, something in his heart twisted to insist. The sight was fitting, natural, even: something that was always meant to be.  
  
Even so, the past year had left a marked difference on Ahsoka. Now just shy of eighteen years of age, she'd grown taller; a last growth spurt had left her just short of looking Rex in the eye, while the dramatic curve of her montrals now exceeded him in height. Her lekku had lengthened to reach halfway to her waist, and, no matter that she still had some decades to go before coming into her full Togrutan heritage, she held up her sweeping crown of horns with a proud tilt of her chin. More disconcertingly, her figure had continued to fill out and mature, no matter that she was still lithe with muscle from a clearly hard walked path in life. Briefly, he hoped that she had been eating and sleeping enough . . . her cheeks were much too hollow for his taste. She'd lost too much of the soft, heart-shaped roundness of her youth, Anakin could not help but worry. The white marks fanning over her cheekbones were larger, just as the patterns on her brow and forehead were more strikingly defined. The chevrons on her head-tails were more exaggerated, with the rich blue shapes turning wispy as they stretched and lost their rigid forms. His apprentice had left him while still a child, and, somehow, she had grown into a woman while gone from his side. The change was still enough to level Anakin where he stood.  
  
. . . yet, the most glaring difference between _his_ Ahsoka and _this_ Ahsoka was her eyes. They were too old for her face . . . much too old. But then, what Padawan in the Order did not have such eyes, after what they had seen in their days? Even a former Padawan, who had dived headfirst to survive in the unforgiving galaxy _alone_ . . .  
  
But Ahsoka was no longer alone, a small, hopeful part of Anakin wanted to whisper aloud and believe with all his being. The Force had ensured the crossing of their paths; fate had thrown them together again, and now, _this time_ -  
  
. . . this time, he could do things right. This time, he would hold on tighter, and not let her go so easily.  
  
But, Anakin reminded himself, that was a thought for later. For the time being, there was only the now. Instead of letting his thoughts carry him away, he forced himself to listen to Ahsoka's brief greeting before she launched into her report, filling him in on everything he had missed since being recalled to Coruscant. As always, Rex was largely content to let her speak with only a few interjections of his own. No matter her loss of formal command in the GAR, he still instinctively flanked her right side, his battered helmet tucked underneath his arm in a deceivingly relaxed pose. His brow was furrowed and his posture was as severe as ever, but there was an ease to his stance that had been lacking for months. There was pride in his expression for the mission at hand – anticipation, even, such as Anakin had not seen in a long time . . . much too long, really.  
  
As of late, his captain had been . . . well, no one could ever accuse Rex of doing anything less than his duty, but the spirit in which he carried out his orders had been strained. The were paired together in the days just following the First Battle of Geonosis, and, since then, Anakin had watched as Rex's zealous faith in both the Jedi and the Republic survived one crippling blow after the next. With each battle survived, and every comrade mourned . . . with the eye-opening horrors of Umbara endured . . . and then, with the loss of Ahsoka, whom all of his men had adored . . .  
  
“ _We_ _'re supposed to_ _take care of our own. General – especially the_ ade. _It's to us to look after them when no one else will,_ _”_ Rex had said the one and only time they discussed her leaving. _“She was failed by those who should have protected her._ _Now, we have to live with that, sir._ _”_  
  
It was to them to take care of their own, few as they remained, Anakin could hear the unspoken. The original members of the 501st were . . . scarce, to say the least. There were few survivors from the second year of the war, even. Now, deep into their third year of combat, Anakin still heard their names when Rex said his litanies at night. Sometimes, Anakin wondered if Rex doubted that he recalled each and every last one of them, too.  
  
Now . . .  
  
Anakin frowned as he observed his captain, with Ahsoka's words sounding further and further away as his thoughts took him. Instead of paying attention, he found himself staring at the scar on the right side of the clone's scalp - glaringly visible from where Rex had newly shaved the tell-tale blonde of his mutation away for the day. The scar was one of many, but this one was suddenly obvious to Anakin's eyes, whispering, _warning_ -  
  
\- and, as he was endeavoring to do as of late – painfully so, at times – he trusted, and followed where the Force would lead.  
  
“You had your chip removed, didn't you?” Anakin interrupted, cutting off Ahsoka mid-sentence. She blinked, taken aback, and glanced over in time to see Rex's eyes narrow at the question before his features smoothed back over again.  
  
“Yes, sir . . . I did,” Rex was only a heartbeat slow to confirm. Though his tone was respectful, Anakin could read the unwitting challenge that filled his stance. He didn't say it, but Anakin could hear: _I_ _'_ _m here because I choose to be,_ _not because I have no_ _choice_ _in the matter,_ as plain as if it was spoken aloud. That very sentiment was why he'd never questioned his captain when he first had the chip removed; instead, they'd both continued on in silence, and the rancor in the room was never mentioned again.  
  
Yet, now . . .  
  
The biochips were implanted to ensure obedience, Anakin could clearly remember the Kaminoans' explanation - as a safeguard to ensure that the worst of Jango Fett's personality was restrained in the clones. Initially, Anakin had only known relief to disprove the sinister implications Fives had tried to warn them of before he was . . . subdued by the chancellor's guard. _(Before he was executed – put down_ _like a dog who'd lost his usefulness_ _, something deep inside of him whispered.)_ Yet . . .  
  
The Force was swirling around him . . . urging . . . _pushing._ He would follow where it led.  
  
“Have you noticed anything . . . different about yourself since then?” Anakin forced the sentence to form. _A_ _ny sort of_ _unbridled_ _a_ _ggression, or_ _thoughts of_ _d_ _issensio_ _n_ _. . ._ _v_ _ague urges of homicidal rage,_ _even_ _?_ He wanted to make light of the question, but found that he could not. The words curdled on his tongue.  
  
Rex clearly hesitated as he formed his answer, but it was Ahsoka who interrupted to speak for him. She took a bold step towards the holorecorder, unconsciously angling her body between he and Rex as if to stand as a shield for the latter. She had not been there for Tup . . . or for Fives, but Rex must have filled her in for how quickly she caught onto his line of questioning now. She liked it but little.  
  
“What are you trying to get at, Anakin?” the sharp points of her teeth flashed with a challenge. After spending so much time on her own, her edges were more acutely defined, a part of Anakin mourned to see. She did not trust as easily as she once had; she'd seen the ugly underbelly of the galaxy, and had learned to expect it more often than not. But that was fine by him - the wound she'd left in her turn still smarted, and he did not have to feign his frown as he stared at her.  
  
_If I c_ _ould_ _n'_ _t_ _mentor - if I c_ _ould_ _n'_ _t_ _protect -_ _my_ _apprentice_ , the thought suddenly ghosted across his mind, _the_ _n_ _what business do I have being a father?_ _How can I expect to raise a child, if I could not lead_ this _child down the path she was_ _so clearly_ _meant to take?_  
  
That single, terrible thought was a shadow of doubt against the careful light he shrouded his mind in as of late. Abruptly, as if the memory was tugged to the forefront of his consciousness like a moon summoning a tide, he remembered -  
  
_“_ _Oh, my dear boy . . . you_ _mustn’t_ _take this to heart.” He could_ _still_ _re_ _call_ _Palpatine's heavy hand_ _resting_ _on his shoulder as_ _tangibly as a_ _ny_ _physical sensation_ _._ _The chancel_ _l_ _or had called him to his office to make amends for his own role in pushing for_ _a guilty_ _sentenc_ _e_ _in Ahsoka's trial._ _H_ _e too had been blinded_ _by the true culprit_ _behind the Temple bombing_ _, and, unlike the Council, he was willing to admit his error in judgment. He was not too arrogant to a_ _ccept_ _that he had been wrong . . . so very wrong._  
  
_The twilight painted scarlet bands across_ _Palpatine's_ _office, Anakin remembered; their shadows were long and dark_ _as they stretched across the floor_ _._  
  
_“_ _Sometimes,”_ _Palpatine_ _continued to_ _soothe with his words,_ _“_ _no matter_ _our_ _best_ _efforts,_ _even the_ _most devoted of_ _fathers fail_ _their children_ _.”_  
  
_“_ _I'm h_ _er Master,_ _th_ _ough_ _,”_ _Anakin_ _could_ _not bring himself to speak in_ _the past tense_ _–_ _sometimes, he still could not_ _. “I_ _t's different_ _than that.”_ _More, in a way._  
  
_Palpatine's fingers flexed_ _on his shoulder_ _. Always sensitive to the cold, Anakin_ _could feel_ _the temperature fall as the sunlight retreated_ _beyond the horizon_ _._ _“Of course, Anakin –_ _you have_ _my_ _apologies for misunderstanding._ _Yet, even the Jedi love_ _those_ _who_ _m_ _they teach, do they not?_ _More'_ _s_ _the_ _shame to dedicate so much of yourself to another_ _sentient_ _being . . . and have it wasted._ _All that time and effort . . ._ _it's_ _such a_ _pity_ _, really. A most unfortunate tragedy, in every way._ _”_  
  
. . . but, it was not a waste, Anakin confronted the chancellor's voice in his mind as Ahsoka defiantly took her stand. _It was not_.  
  
His eyes fell to the dual lightsabers she had newly hanging from her belt - returned to their rightful place, where they ever should have remained, no matter how Obi-Wan had sighed at him for doing so - and thought: _I can fix this. I_ will _fix this._  
  
“I don't know, Ahsoka.” In the end, it was the only answer he could truly give. “I just have a . . . feeling about this.”  
  
“A feeling?” Ahsoka repeated. “A _bad_ feeling?” she tried to probe. A wry smile tugged on the corners of her mouth for the familiar words; the expression, Anakin hated to see, was tired.  
  
“Should we be concerned, General?” Rex echoed Ahsoka to ask - minus the hearty dose of dubiousness. The unswerving trust in his captain's gaze twisted at something deep inside of him, and Anakin slowly shook his head. He wouldn't ask his initial question twice if Rex would not dignify it with an answer; he respected him too much for that. “Is this something like what had to do with . . .”  
  
But Rex could not finish his sentence; he could not give voice to the name of their shared ghost. At the grim cast of his eyes, Anakin thought about the men still remaining on the front-lines – now so much less than their initial millions, and knew . . .  
  
“I don't know,” he repeated again, though gently so. “The Force is urging me on this matter, but I don't know what it's trying to tell me. Not yet.” He waved his hand, and fought the urge he had to sigh. Neither his captain or his apprentice . . . no, _just_ Ahsoka now, he reflexively reminded himself . . . needed to see his doubt.  
  
“Please,” Anakin decided to steer the conversation back on course, “go on with your report, Ahsoka. You'll be the first to know when I've better figured this out.”  
  
Ahsoka was silent for a long moment, staring at him through the transmission as if she could draw the truth from his gaze. She broke off eye-contact only to share a glance with Rex, and there, Anakin felt, more was silently said between them before she grudgingly nodded.  
  
“Alright then,” her voice was cooler than Anakin cared to hear as she brought up a holomap of the capitol. “As I was saying: we're not going to get anywhere fighting Maul head-on - that's already been proved more than once. This plaza, here, is where we think we can lay our trap . . .”  
  
  
  
.  
  
.  
  
The dawn was grey with rain, and the lazy, rumbling storms continued throughout the day.  
  
Anakin spent the bulk of his morning meditating, and then he sat down to read through the few files he could gather on Jango Fett. They were difficult to track down with the Mandalorians having disavowed their former culture and all those tied to it with a determined sort of ruthlessness. Eventually, Anakin could only glean results by combing through the Jedi archives – which were not altered or deleted with the rising and falling of planetary powers in the slightest. Early in the morning, he sent a request for Master Sinube to send him the information he could not physically access from afar, and by the late afternoon he had the pieces available to puzzle over and form what a picture he could.  
  
His reading was slow, tortuously so – he'd always hated the mundane aspects of research, after all – and he had to force himself to concentrate and look for similarities between the original template and the finished product he more intimately knew. He first had to quell a fierce, seething flush of hatred when he brought up the file on his 'pad – for this man had tried to kill his wife for a _profit_ , and Anakin's only regret for the bounty hunter's demise was that he had not swung the killing blow himself. But such a thought was steeped in vengeance and _hate_ , swirling up from the dark, ugly furnace that churned at the core of his being. He could not allow himself to feed those flames . . . not then. He had too many counting on him . . . from his family to be, to the hundreds of thousands of men who were not their progenitor in every way that truly mattered.  
  
Which then brought him to question: how much of Jango Fett's personality did the biochips restrain? Well, what _further_ behavioral traits did they mute, at least? He knew that the Kaminoans had already tampered with the clones' personality at a genetic level. Why the redundancy, then? They were already programmed to walk that delicate line between submission and free will; cautious restraint and lethal savagery; brave, selfless humility and fierce, competitive pride. Why was the extra precaution deemed necessary?  
  
_Well, just look at the template_ , Anakin would have once snorted to answer, and that would have been that. Once, and yet . . .  
  
Jango Fett had not always been a bounty hunter. Prior to that, he'd been one of the True Mandalorians - those who followed the old ways with a strict code of honor in defiance of the New Mandalorians' pacifism and the unbridled violence of the Death Watch. Orphaned by Tor Vizsla's thugs at a young age, and taken in by Jaster Mereel himself, he'd been groomed to succeed his adopted father as the _Mand'alor_ over the clans - which he later had. He . . . he looked to be a good leader, by all accounts, as much as Anakin hated to admit it. He scrolled through the old mission reports, and paused only when he stumbled across a familiar name -  
  
. . . Galidraan?  
  
Oh . . . _Galidraa_ _n_.  
  
He'd been involved with that dark day in Jedi history? Even though the massacre had occurred before Anakin's time, the tale was still told as a cautionary one to each and every student coming up through the Temple ranks. That lesson, reinforcing the wisdom of separating the Jedi and State, had been the first time he heard the name Count Dooku spoken - shortly after the Jedi Master officially resigned his place in the Order.  
  
It had been a hard time for Obi-Wan, Anakin remembered. So soon following Qui-Gon's death, their bond had been a new, fragile thing. No matter the unfamiliar gulf still yawning between them, Anakin had wanted to comfort what was so clearly an open wound on his Master's spirit . . . only, he hadn't the faintest idea of how to do so at the time  
  
_“Dooku was Qui-_ _G_ _on's_ _M_ _aster_ _,_ _”_ _Obi-Wan's_ _explanation_ _had been short – succinctly so, but,_ _in it,_ _Anakin_ _thought_ _he_ _could understand all that_ _Obi-Wan did not say_ _._  
  
_“_ _So . . . h_ _e's l_ _ike_ _your_ _grandfather?”_ _It was an idea that made sense to him when all else in the Temple was still so foreign and strange._ _“_ _That would make him_ my _great-grandfather,_ _then?_ _”_ _T_ _he idea of_ _family, of tangible ties anchoring his heart, had been a_ _n_ _appealing one_ _at the time_ _._  
  
_“_ _I suppose_ _you could think of it like that._ _”_ _B_ _ut_ _Obi-Wan's tone_ _adopted a_ _careful blankness that_ _only_ _formed_ _whenever Anakin did not understand something fundamental to those who had grown in the Order._ _It was a tone that Ana_ _k_ _in was well learning to recognize,_ _and he felt shame bloom as a bruise_ _o_ _n his heart. He had erred . . . again._  
  
_“_ _However, w_ _e do n_ _o_ _t put names on such attachments here,_ _Anakin – remember that,”_ _Obi-Wan's voice_ _took_ _on_ _a hard_ _line_ _as he stared unseeingly off in_ _to_ _the distance._ _“_ _And Dooku is not one you should emulate. Not in any way._ _Put him from your mind, young one, and do not think of him again._ _”_  
  
So, for many years, Anakin had not.  
  
Yet . . . _Galidraan_.  
  
Though the Jedi Order did not like to speak of it, they knew that they had erred in interfering with Galidraan's affairs. There, they had been manipulated by the local planetary governor crying wolf to the Senate, and they had stormed in to put down the wrong wolf. They had slain the wrong Mandalorians, and the Death Watch had laughed to see their foes cut down by Jedi lightsabers without them bloodying their own hands with a single kill. Count Dooku had led the mission . . . and many Jedi died underneath his command - fallen at the hands of Jango Fett and his men, defending themselves when they were unjustly pursued. Dooku later claimed that mistake - the result of the Jedi delving in too deep and sweeping in with a sword - as a clear symptom of an irreparably flawed Order, and had left with his accusation weighing heavily on the minds of all those he abandoned. That day had been a turning point in galactic history.  
  
And, as for Jango . . . he'd been the only Mandalorian still breathing when the Jedi were through with them. The Republic left him to Galidraan's idea of _justice,_ and he'd been sold by the local governor to a travelling slaver. There, the report ended before picking up again in Obi-Wan's clear post-mission voice, detailing the events that Anakin was already familiar with. Evidently, Anakin could fill in the blanks, Fett had escaped captivity, and then, with his unique skill-set, made his way in the galaxy as a bounty hunter while Satine's new order rose against the Death Watch. He'd largely fallen off the radar to all civilized society before turning up again on Kamino as the progenitor for the clone army . . .  
  
. . . and the paid muscle behind many of Count Dooku's schemes.  
  
There was a connection there . . . but not one that Anakin well understood. Why . . . why would such a Mandalorian – the last _Mand'olar_ , at that, willingly give up his DNA for a project dedicated to the _Jedi_? Why would he later attack at the bidding of a client like _Dooku_ , when he'd been the sword-hand responsible for his people's downfall and disgrace? It did not make any sense.  
  
_That's easy_ , a part of Anakin still scoffed, _he did so out of greed -_ _f_ _or profit. He was paid_ _a small fortune for relatively little in return_ _;_ _what more could_ _a mercenary_ _want_ _?_  
  
Maybe that was enough . . . it probably was. It would be more than enough for most of the bounty hunters Anakin knew.  
  
Yet . . . the scarred face on the profile seemed to _laugh_ at him as he wrestled with his conclusion. Eyes that were Rex's eyes . . . Tup's eyes . . . _Fives_ _'_ eyes gleamed, knowing an answer that remained tantalizingly beyond his reach.  
  
Jango Fett would have happily seen the Jedi Order exterminated, that simple truth whispered across Anakin's mind, with every one of its members erased from the galactic record as if they had never existed in the first place. Why, then . . .  
  
. . . there was more to this. The answer was there – _right there_ , and the Force pushed at him, until -  
  
“You're thinking too hard,” his wife's voice was a clear, bell-like sound against the silence. “You're giving yourself frown-lines.”  
  
_We were not created to serve our Jedi, as we first thought_ , Fives' voice echoed through his mind, so thick with paranoia at the end, and then the memory winked away. _Instead -_  
  
\- just like that, the bands of tension criss-crossing his mind snapped. Anakin blinked, and put the 'pad away. “I'm trying to fry a circuit,” he admitted, reaching up to scrub his hands over his face. He pressed his fingertips against his closed eyes, trying to relieve the strain he'd put on his vision. “Obi-Wan claims that I don't have many to spare, at that.”  
  
“Oh, I don't know,” Padmé's response was cheeky. “Something tells me that he's only exasperated when you use that mind against _him_.”  
  
Anakin's smile, when he looked up again, was fond. He could feel his own contentment glow in the Force like a banked flame. “I suppose that you could be right about that.”  
  
Walking for Padmé was a slow, laborious thing, but she made her way over to the sofa anyway. Reflexively, he made room for her, making sure that every trace of what he had been studying was powered down from her sight. She didn't need an unhappy reminder of a prior grief right then - _Cord_ _é_ , he knew that she still mourned the loss of her handmaiden, and Anakin would tell her his thoughts only when he had something conclusive to share.  
  
Instead, for the moment, he closed his eyes and listened to the rain as Padmé rested her head against his shoulder. He could hear the soft, musical cadence of the water dancing across the roof and chiming against the lake. Thunder rumbled in the distance, like the sleepy yawn of some great, sated beast, and Anakin felt as the sound echoed in his chest. The air was sweet smelling and clean, charged by the electricity in the atmosphere, and Anakin clenched his inorganic hand as the interfaces buzzed with a telling static.  
  
“It's still a novelty to me – the sound of water,” his words were drowsily spoken from the back of his throat. He wrapped a comfortable arm around his wife as she held a 'pad of her own, powering up the screen and scrolling through a list he did not bother peering over her shoulder to read. He was done with research for the day.  
  
“I've always loved the rain, too,” Padmé's voice was soft to agree. “Especially here.”  
  
_Especially now_ , Anakin gleaned from her mind. In answer, he felt the embers of his contentment continue to glow. For a minute or so he was content in the silence, in the shelter of the rest he allowed himself to take, and then -  
  
\- he cracked an eye open, and his curiosity got the better of him. “What are you working on? More from the Senate?”  
  
“My duties are being well handled in my absence,” Padmé shook her head. “I've already heard from Jar Jar and Moteé today; now, it's nice to just be able to relax.”  
  
At that, his curiosity was piqued all the more so. His wife was not hiding from him, per se, but he could feel the bright spark of her anticipation. She was waiting for him to understand something.  
  
Now fully alert, he opened both eyes and peered down to ask, “Then what _are_ you working on, love?” Yet, even as he spoke, he understood the list she was scrolling through. Just as -  
  
“ - baby names,” Padmé revealed. “We can't call the twins Son and Daughter indefinitely, now can we?”  
  
Anakin gave an unwitting shudder at her words. “No,” he agreed. “Most definitely not.”  
  
Padmé tilted her head back to look up at him. “Have you thought of any?” she wondered aloud.  
  
“Well, not really . . . not yet,” he was shamed to answer. Fatherhood was never an idea he'd entertained beyond the vaguest idea of their life together after the war. And, since she'd told him of her pregnancy . . .”You've had longer than me to adjust to this – everything is still very new to me,” Anakin deflected to say. “What do you have so far?”  
  
Padmé's smile was wry. “I'm just glad that you're here to decide with me – there were days when I thought I'd have to name them on my own.” She closed her eyes, and at the tired sort of sorrow he could feel bubble up in her spirit – an all too familiar echo from during the war – he tightened his grip about her. He was here now, and he would not let her go.  
  
“Maybe,” she tapped her stylus at the 'pad, and Anakin recognized her own short-hand next to the generated list of suggestions, “something after your mother?”  
  
At first, the idea brought a happy, honored flush to Anakin's heart. Yet, shame was quick on the heels of his pride, and he knew . . .  
  
“I don't think I deserve that . . . not yet,” he was very quiet to say. He was initially going to keep the thought to himself, but the words bubbled up from his tongue without his conscious approval. He recovered himself: “Let's not put the weight of the dead on the living.”  
  
Even so, Padmé's eyes narrowed. She understood his rejoinder for what it was, and, with a vague sort of certainty, he understood that she would not let the matter rest. It was an argument that she would resurrect later, when she thought he could better handle it. “Okay,” she allowed. “Not for the twins, then.”  
  
The simple trust inherent in her words – the promise of _another_ child, somewhere down the line – was enough to level Anakin, and he was glad that he was sitting. He would not have been able to remain standing. In that moment, the quiet foreboding of his visions seemed very far away, indeed.  
  
“For another child, then,” Anakin's voice was raw to say. He looked down at her list, wanting to distract himself, and was drawn to the words in High Naboo she had chosen. There, the first one to catch his eye was: “Luke?” He tried the word out loud, and felt a sense of _rightness_ resonate with the simple syllable. _“Luke,”_ he sampled its sound again, and felt the Force hum around him for his choice. _Luke Skywalker._ He liked the flow of it.  
  
“It means light,” Padmé tapped on the name to say. “It's bringer, to be more specific. Like the dawn.”  
  
The Force all but swirled, pleased and insistent, even as Anakin inclined his head to say, “The galaxy could use a little more light, that's for sure.”  
  
“It was one of the first names I considered,” Padmé revealed, clearly happy with their progress. “It's one of my favourites.”  
  
_“Luke,”_ Anakin tried again for the simple joy of saying the name out loud – nearly certain that they would not find a better one. “Luke Skywalker. You know what . . . I think I like it.” _It's perfect_ , he knew.  
  
“Luke Skywalker,” Padmé too tried the name with a joyous, dazzling grin, and the hand that was not holding the 'pad fell to her stomach. Her eyes widened as she felt one of the babies kick; Anakin did not need her to tell him so – he could feel it too.  
  
“I think that he approves,” Anakin was delighted to say.  
  
“I believe he does,” Padmé's face was alight with a soft, wondrous sort of awe. She shook her head as his organic hand came to cover her own, still marveling over the aspects of the Force that she could not completely understand, only appreciate for what they were.  
  
“Now then,” a moment later, her brows knit together in a familiar look of concentration, “for our daughter . . .”  
  
Anakin peered over her shoulder, and as the rain picked up in intensity, a thought hit him. “What is the word for water?” he asked.  
  
_“Wa_ _k_ _loo,”_ Padmé answered after a moment's searching. The corners of her mouth drew up in amusement.  
  
Anakin wrinkled his nose. That was not what he was looking for at all. “No,” he did not have to know Padmé's thoughts on the matter to decide. “We'll keep looking.”  
  
“We'll know the right one when we see it,” Padmé agreed, and together, they continued looking through the list as the rain fell down beyond them.  
  
  
  
.  
  
.  
  
The storms broke in time to let the colors of the sunset through, burning the high ridges of the clouds with flame and gilding the still glistening sheen left by the rain with gold. Anakin left his wife dozing on the couch to step out onto the terrace, breathing in the clean, heavy scent of the sodden flowers and the swollen lake. Then, a decision made in his mind, he thumbed on his wrist-comm, and patched a transmission through to Obi-Wan.  
  
“Obi-Wan,” he found his path clear even as he chose it, “. . . there's a matter that's been troubling me. Get a med droid and your commander . . . there's something you need to do for him, and have analyzed after . . . I have a bad feeling about this.”


	2. II

The following day saw to the end of the 41st's primary engagement on Kashyyyk, just as Obi-Wan departed from Utapau for the capital. After ensuring that the loose ends regarding his campaign were seen to, Yoda too would return to Coruscant, and Obi-Wan would then join his fellow Masters of the Order in requesting that Palpatine put aside his war-time powers.  
  
Yet, until then . . .  
  
“Cody was not happy to be pulled from overseeing the Separatists' rout – what little of it remained, that was,” Obi-Wan updated him while the _Vigilance_ waited in orbit above Coruscant for their landing clearance. His eyes were tired, but a smile ghosted across his mouth as he added, “Crys, however, was all too happy to assume the burden of command – perhaps overly so.”  
  
Anakin cracked a grudging half-smile; he was familiar enough with the dynamics of the 212 th to find the idea amusing. But he remained silent, and waited for the elder Jedi to continue. He knew Obi-Wan's diversionary tactics for what they were: the faint crinkling at the corners of his eyes and the way he thoughtfully stroked his beard spoke more loudly than any words. He was troubled, and deeply so.  
  
With a patience he did not truly feel, Anakin waited; mentally, he prepared himself.  
  
“But,” Obi-Wan did not allow the silence to last, “what's done is done. His chip is removed, and I cannot help but feel . . .” he lifted his hand from his chin to sweep back the fringe of his hair in a restless gesture. He was clearly unsettled, and the hologram rippled with interference to match. “I feel as if I have just stepped away from a knife, truth be told. There's a weight that's no longer present overhead – one that I had not even noticed before now . . . and its absence troubles me for what it may portend.”  
  
Anakin frowned, but understood what Obi-Wan was trying to say. He himself had never felt the vague sense of dormant _threat_ _danger_ that many of his fellow Jedi initially sensed from their troops – a puzzling feeling that even Obi-wan had admitted to early on in the war, before he bonded with his battalion in the thick of combat. For Anakin, his men had always felt as hounds following him into the hunt, leaping at his side instead of snapping at his throat. He did not have to learn to trust them over time.   
  
“Did you have the chip analyzed?” Anakin shook his head to clear his thoughts, troubling as they were. He blinked against the heralding flashes of _blue_ and _white_ he remembered from his visions, and shifted his attention to the present.  
  
“Yes,” Obi-Wan nodded in the affirmative. He too recovered his focus to deal with the matter at hand. “The Utapauns were all too happy to express their gratitude, and offered up what resources they had to aid my search. Their technology was somewhat crude, however, so I'll no doubt find out more when we run our own tests at the Temple . . . but I can tell you, at the very least, that the chips are receiving an active pulse. They have the ability to command; they are not simply inhibitors.”  
  
“An active pulse?” Anakin repeated, puzzled. “From Kamino?”   
  
“That is the curious part,” Obi-Wan's gaze locked on his through the blue field. “The source of the signal comes from here - from Coruscant. I could not pinpoint its exact origins with the equipment available to me on Utapau; the chip's encryption was too strong to break.”  
  
 _Coruscant?_ Anakin frowned. Besides the GAR headquarters and the Jedi themselves, there was nothing connecting the clones to the capital. If there was anything like what Obi-Wan was implying coming from official channels, the Jedi would already know about it.  
  
. . . wouldn't they?  
  
He clenched his jaw, and tried to make sense of the matter in his mind, feeling as his thoughts slipped over and about each other without finding any sort of definitive purchase. The Force swirled, but he merely grit his teeth and narrowed his eyes at its presence: _what a great help you_ _'re being_ , he wanted to grumble, and felt as his senses filled fit to burst with the pressure he felt urging him onwards.  
  
Slowly, he took in a deep breath. His frustration would get him nowhere fast, he had to consciously remind himself, and his anger had no place - not then. Not there.  
  
“For the time being, it's mostly a static pulse,” Obi-Wan continued. Even across the distance, Anakin could feel the almost reflexive offering of _peace_ _calm_ his former Master extended through their bond. “But, when - if ever - the signal is concentrated . . . the structure of the chip and its location in the frontal lobe of the brain has the potential to completely override any sort of free-will in our men. It will destroy their autonomy, and they will be powerless to resist any command given to them.”  
  
The very idea of it made his stomach roll, and bile rose in his throat. He . . . he remembered some of the slavers on Tatooine who had similar such tech installed in their more . . . troublesome merchandise. Unruly property who still had too much worth to their masters otherwise were often fit with such implants, and Anakin fought the urge he had to flinch as he remembered more than one cybernetically controlled slave he had known. Watto had even threatened to do the same to _him_ once or twice, when his moods were snappish following bad days at the races. Even though the threat had no real teeth to it, the fact remained that his master _could have_ done so if he wished. He would have had no choice in the matter; just as his men now did not. It was always messy implanting inorganic tech in a mature, sentient brain, at that, and he knew . . .  
  
 _They must have grown with these_ _chips . . . they were implanted at an embryonic level._ _It's the only way the technology is so seamless._ _It's the only way we haven't notice them before now._   
  
This went back to the beginning, then – to the original commission of the army, of which they still knew but frustratingly little. Anakin felt as if he had more questions than answers, and what answers he _did_ have . . .  
  
“How's Cody doing?” he asked, even as his thoughts continued to spin. He could feel the gears in his inorganic hand whirl and clench; he had to force the terse line of his jaw to relax.  
  
“He's well, as far as I can tell. He has questions, however . . . questions I am not sure how to answer. For now, he trusts me enough to understand that I have reasons for maintaining my silence.” Fondness softened Obi-Wan's words before his expression sobered. His eyes narrowed. “Then . . . I am not sure what, precisely, I should be looking for,” he confessed. “This whole matter has my nerves on edge.”  
  
That, at least, Anakin could well agree with: their need to act was touched with the urgency of _protect_ and _defend._ Only, he was not quite sure just who - or what - they were endeavoring to shield from harm. _Everything_ , a nameless dread in the Force whispered, and Anakin swallowed back a sour taste. _Everyone._  
  
“You don't need to worry overly much.” That, at least, Anakin could assure with some confidence. “Rex has gone without his chip since the incident with . . . ” but he still could not say Fives' name aloud. Especially not then. He pressed his lips together, and had to try again, “For months, I have noticed no change in his behavior. He's still as loyal as he ever was; there's not a command I have given that he's hesitated to obey.”   
  
“But he's your captain,” Obi-Wan dryly pointed out. “If this goes where I think it's going . . . could you say the same of a new batch at the bottom of the ranks, fresh from Kamino?”  
  
 _It's how every other army in the_ _galaxy_ _ha_ _s_ _to work –_ _they have_ _to earn the loyalty of their men and prove their right to lead_. But the thought was an old thought to Anakin's mind, steeped in anger and frustration for his own complacency in the use of the clone army. So, he swallowed his retort, and instead reasoned, “There's too much about the clones that we are still guessing about, and the Kaminoans are too unhelpful in answering those questions for my taste . . . but we _do_ know that the Sith have had their hands in this from the beginning. I still do not agree with the Council's decision to remain silent on the matter, and for where our conclusions are heading . . . ” but his words tapered off, and he frowned. The ultimate conclusion was there, _right there_ on the tip of his tongue, only he could not yet -  
  
“I can look into a way to deactivate the signal,” after a long pause, Obi-Wan hazarded to say. “I have some contacts I can reach out to - it's worth a shot. I'll see if Master Ti has anything more to say on the matter, as well – she has long held her tongue, but I know that she has thoughts and suspicions that she cannot share . . . or rightly prove.” Obi-Wan sighed, a deep and weary sound from his chest. “I will need her backing if I take the idea of decommissioning the chips to the Council.”   
  
Anakin felt his ire rise at the idea of the Council continuing to play _politics_ when there were sentient beings underneath their command who needed their protection. He felt his lips draw back from his teeth, but before he could say something in an all too familiar flash of temper -  
  
“ - oh, do not think that I am completely sold on the idea myself,” Obi-Wan warned, well able to read him by his expression alone. “You have to remember that I faced Jango Fett, and you did not – the last thing I want is for a million men with his skills suddenly given independent thinking and unchecked aggression. We must be canny, and we must be cautious. Yet,” he nonetheless admitted, “the Force _is_ urging me on this matter, as well . . . and it has been unclear about too many things as of late to be ignored.”  
  
Anakin drew in a deep breath through his nose, and let it out slowly through his mouth. When he spoke, his voice was level to remind, “The war is winding to a close. One way or another, we are going to have to figure out what to do about the clones who live through to the end. This is just a step in the right direction.”  
  
“Yes . . . indeed.” No matter his more realistic acceptance of the Republic's political landscape, Obi-Wan's eyes glittered with a hard edge to agree. Soon, they would have a battle of another kind to wage, yet it was one Anakin only knew anticipation for: _let it come_.  
  
Yet, they had a path forking in the road before them. Troubled, Anakin stared down the immaterial destinations their choices would lead to and knew that, for one decision or another . . .  
  
\- but his thoughts were interrupted by a swift spike of _discomfort agony_ echoing through the Force. He felt the spasm of pain as a shadow of things to come, as a warning, and he _knew_ -  
  
His worry was a sudden swell in the Force, a tempestuous rise of power that grew to swirl about him in an almost tangible outpouring of pulsating energy. He thought he knew where the sensation originated from, and with a sudden burst of terror he understood: today was the day of his dreams. Now, one way or another . . .  
  
. . . he would have all of his family or none of them by the day's end. Either way, the moment had arrived.  
  
Obi-Wan clearly felt the rise of his fears. He took a step back before grounding himself and leaning forward as if he could reach out through the transmission and place a physical hand on his shoulder. “Anakin . . .” he started lowly, carefully. His voice was pitched to sooth, and the warmth he pushed towards him through their bond rippled across his senses.  
  
“Master,” somehow, Anakin found his voice. It was a raw, dry sound to his own ears. “I . . . I have to go now.”  
  
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said again, this time in a stronger tone. His presence was a calm spot amidst the sudden storm of anxiety and roiling energy that threatened to consume him. Anakin could not breathe against the growing dynamism of the Force - instinctively surging in response to his panic with a maelstrom of trapped _vigor_ _ability_ _might_. The potency of the power then waiting at his fingertips was overwhelming, humbling and terrifying and _intoxicating_ all at once. _It was too much._ “Anakin? I will be right there.”   
  
His voice was firm; steady. Anakin tried to latch on to the certainty he promised, and make it his own.   
  
“Obi-Wan . . . I don't know if . . . ” He swallowed against the plaintive sound of his voice - as if he was a child uncertain of his way all over again. He closed his eyes, and focused on the furious tattoo of his heart, on the rapid pulse of his blood. He tried to fill his lungs deep with air and _breathe_ , but his control was a perilous thing.  
  
“I will be _right there_ , Anakin,” Obi-Wan's voice was a low, forceful sound, cutting through the haze of power attempting to consume him. “Now concentrate, my friend, and find your wife. You are going to become a father today.”  
  
  
  
.  
  
.  
  
When he was at last able to move, Anakin followed his senses and burst into the kitchen to find Padmé hunched over the sink. She had one hand pressed against her swollen abdomen, and her eyes were clenched tightly shut. She only blinked as another intense burst of _discomfort pain_ ebbed to take on a stillness that was all the calm surface of a sea over a churning deep-water current beneath. Her pain was merely muted, Anakin understood; it had not passed in its entirety. But, for the moment, it was letting her breathe.  
  
“Padmé?” His voice wavered, and he hated the fear it conveyed as he came to stand by her side. He placed his hands on her shoulders, and felt as she shifted to gratefully lean her weight against him.  
  
She took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. When she looked up, her eyes were clear; determination burned in her gaze.  
  
“I think my water broke,” Padmé stated matter-of-factly. She was much too calm for Anakin's psyche to process; his brain stuttered to make sense of her words.   
  
This was too early, he thought – though only days so, he next forced himself to reason. She'd been having false contractions on and off again since they first reached Naboo – it was a natural part of any pregnancy, he'd been told, but now, this time . . .  
  
. . . this was no false alarm, he knew with a building certainty. This was real.  
  
“Okay, then,” Anakin tried to find his voice. “We'll just . . .” but his thoughts were hurling past him, too wild and panicked for him to wholly process. He knew that they had a plan - there was something he should be doing. But all he could see was his dream: the cries of his wife and the cries of his children and the dark, yawning _nothingness_ that would linger where once she had shone with _such a light_ -  
  
“ - Anakin,” Padmé's voice was a sharp crack of sound. “Ani, I need you to concentrate, and _breathe_.”  
  
At last, the absurdity of her words pierced through the downward spiral of his thoughts. Anakin struggled to focus on her voice, on her presence, right there and _alive_ next to him. He hadn't lost her, and he yet would not. He took a deep breath in, and struggled to exhale.  
  
“Shouldn't I be the one telling you that?” he tried to quip, but his voice sounded thin. He could not manage a smile to match.  
  
Padmé's eyes only narrowed - not at him, he knew, but at any fate that would think to take her from her family that day. She reached out, and the hand clutching at his arm squeezed with a steady strength. “I'm telling you that you have to breathe - and _focus_. The children . . . they don't _feel_ right when you're not calm . . . so I need you to be calm. This is already hard enough as it is, and they're scared – I know they are. Please, do this for me; for _us_.”  
  
He was hurting his wife . . . he was hurting his _children_. Few things were able to bank the black heat rising within him better than that. With an inhuman force of will, he calmed himself. His brain shuddered to make room for rational thought, but at last he prevailed over himself and his senses cleared. He would not be the factor that made this day impossible for Padmé to bear; he would not be the fulfillment of his own vision, _he would not_.  
  
“Yes, of course . . . I am sorry,” Anakin shook his head again. His panic and anger and pain were all there, _right there_ beneath the surface, but they no longer threatened to consume him. He breathed in spite of them. “Then . . . I'll just . . .”  
  
They had a plan, he was still trying to remember. It was time to follow that plan. Only . . . he could not remember what it was he was supposed to do next. He had commanded and survived a hundred campaigns on too many worlds to mention, yet the relatively simple schematics of helping his wife as countless men had done before him was proving to be -  
  
“ - you need to get the speeder started,” Padmé gently reminded him. “Sabé is grabbing my bag. My family will meet us in Theed. Everything else is ready.”  
  
Anakin frowned. “Do we have time - ”  
  
“ - labor is not as quick as it is on the holovids, Ani,” Padmé's voice was touched with a resigned sort of dark humor. “We have time. Hours, even.”  
  
Right – _right_. He knew that. Of course he did.  
  
“Anakin - ” she tried one more time to reach him, but no . . . _no_. He would not be a further stress to her; it was time for _him_ to take care of _her_.  
  
“ - I'm okay, love, don't worry about me,” Anakin assured her. He leaned down to kiss her already clammy brow, and ran a shaky hand over the softness of her hair. Firmly, he told himself that he was not memorizing her. “This is about you now; I'm going to take care of you – all of you.”  
  
He could feel Padmé's eyes close, and when she returned the embrace her fingertips curled in the fabric of his tunic – the only sign she gave that she too shared his worst fears, before she drew away.   
  
For better or worse, it was time.  
  
  
  
.  
  
.  
  
Anakin's exposure to laboring women was as admittedly scarce as it was, for the most part, a thing of his past.  
  
His mother had known a small share of medical skills, and acted as a midwife for the few pregnant slave-girls she could. Mostly, through the haze of his youth, Anakin remembered that the process was long . . . and it was loud. As a child, he'd learned to be ready with clean towels and hot water and what disinfectant sprays they could procure, but there had always been a sort of detachment to his curiosity. Now . . .  
  
. . . now, the process was different when it was his _wife_ , his _children_ , who -  
  
“ - is this . . . is everything . . .” he found himself reaching out and grasping Jobal's arm for the umpteenth time as she made to pass, and his mother-in-law gave him a patient smile - _again_.  
  
“So far, everything is progressing naturally, dear,” Jobal nonetheless took the time to assure him. She reached up and briefly covered his hand with her own before turning to leave the suite and update the gathered Naberrie clan in the waiting room. “We would tell you the moment it is not,” she assured him as she left.  
  
Of course . . . of course. Logically, _rationally_ , Anakin knew that, and yet . . .  
  
“The midwife is threatening to have you removed from the room. Your anxiety is producing _negative vibes_ , she says,” even so, Padmé was able to summon a smile and whisper in a conspiratorial tone.   
  
“I'd like to see her try to move me,” Anakin fought to keep the growl from his voice at the idea. He was only marginally successful.  
  
“I don't know,” Padmé pretended to consider. Her brown eyes sparkled with a distracted sort of humor. “I think that my credits would be on - ”  
  
But another contraction seized her, and her words cut off with a wince and a low, pained exhalation of breath - no matter how she tried to keep the sound to herself. Anakin was instantly by her side and giving her a hand to grasp through the pain.   
  
In a queer way, he found some of his own fear ebbing as he trained his every sense on his wife and children. He could feel as her discomfort built and crested like a wave before crashing down and dispersing before starting all over again. But she still had time to rest and recover between contractions, and for a moment the dizzying pain he glimpsed from her abated. Padmé squeezed his fingers in an almost apologetic way when she could finally breathe again.  
  
“Okay,” she tried to regroup. “That one was worse.” She bit her lip, perhaps only then realizing just how monumental the task before her truly was, before frowning to stare doggedly ahead. He could feel a low, natural sort of protectiveness burn deep within her. Her instinctive determination to care for her young was already stronger than any physical discomfort she was experiencing, and he believed that it would remain that way.  
  
The idea that she had hours of this left to go was something that did not sit well with Anakin. Yet, for all of its intensity, her pain _was_ a natural one. She repeatedly turned down the option of suppressants – not wanting to impair her body's ability to tell her if something was wrong by doing so, and instead grit her teeth and bore through her contractions as untold women before her had, and many more would after her. As the hours passed, Anakin - negated by biology to the pathetically useless role of support - simply held her hand, and tried to take what discomfort he could from her by way of the Force. In his own eyes there was but frustratingly little he could do, but he felt Padmé's relief that he was there to bear through her ordeal with her. She took strength from his presence in a way that still awed Anakin, as humbling and unbelievable as the idea that she loved _him_ still sometimes was.  
  
If he had not been recalled to Coruscant, the thought was a distant, painful one, he could still be off obliviously fighting a war while she went through this _alone_ . . .  
  
. . . he had not been with Padmé in his dreams, he then understood with a low whisper of _knowing_. Such a dark haze had clouded the entire event, suffocating the very air and choking the advent of _life_ when the light should have been at its strongest. Yet, instead of such a pall, he then felt . . .  
  
“ - Anakin,” he heard a voice speak from the doorway of the suite, even as a familiar, serene presence pressed in on the edge of his senses. “You have a visitor.”  
  
He looked up to see that Sola had returned from her turn briefing the waiting room, and was expectantly looking to take his place by her sister's side. Anakin glanced at his wife, torn, but Padmé must have understood as well as he. She waved a hand, even as she winced as another contraction wracked through her body. “Go, go,” she encouraged him. “And tell Obi-Wan hello for me. Give my apologies that I'm too . . . indisposed to greet him myself.”  
  
If she was still coherent enough for humor, Anakin felt better about leaving her – but only marginally so. In the end it took both Jobal and Sola insisting, and he left only as Padmé took another turn wading in one of the shallow pools in the birthing suite to help sooth her pains. After assuring himself that he would not be missed for the time being, he left her with her family to find his Master.  
  
He did not have to say a word – even that all too familiar flush of _guilt shame_ he still knew for betraying his vows as a Jedi was absent as Obi-wan swept him into an embrace and pushed a wave of _warmth_ _support_ _calm_ to him through the Force. Anakin held on tightly, and simply breathed before letting the older man go.  
  
“How is she?” Obi-Wan asked, and at the worry in his eyes Anakin reminded himself that he too adored his wife, in his own way. Even without their newfound connection, he would have mourned had anything happened to her.  
  
“She is well, for now,” Anakin found his voice to answer. “As well as can be expected, anyway.” He felt unsteady in his skin as he fought the urge to return to her side. He did not like leaving her alone.  
  
“And you?” Obi-Wan asked next, and Anakin could read every question he did not utter aloud in the pointed blue-grey of his gaze.  
  
So, Anakin exhaled, and truthfully replied, “I am . . . I am trying to remain centered. The twins help - they're forcing me to remember my calm . . . they can sense me, and I don't want their fear burdening their mother. This is already enough of an ordeal as it is.”  
  
Slowly, Obi-Wan nodded, and Anakin could feel as he subtly probed their bond, looking for everything he could not say aloud with words. It felt cleansing . . . refreshing, even, to allow him to look unhindered. For the first time in years, Anakin did not have to bat his former Master away for fear of revealing his secrets. Instead, Anakin let him see what he would see, trusting that anything Obi-Wan unearthed for the ill was that which Anakin too found disquieting, and would work to clear from his consciousness. He could no longer be alone in the shadows of his own mind - not with the tempestuous nature of the power he had just waiting at his fingertips. Not with his _family_ counting on him to do otherwise.  
  
“Alright, then,” Obi-Wan finally said, and at the flicker of approval Anakin thought to see in his eyes, his stance lost its unconscious stiffness. He exhaled in the Force, feeling a rush of pride course through him for his Master's pride in _him._ That simple, joyous warmth flashed stronger than his fear and doubt. For a moment, he found his balance. Everything would be okay, he thought to know then . . . one way or another _everything would be okay_. Even if the unthinkable happened - though the idea was still anathema to his mind - he would endure. He would live with his loss and even someday heal from it. In the meantime, he would be there for his children where their mother could not.  
  
He did not have to detach himself, as the Jedi preached - his clarity was a sudden, dizzying thing . . . instead, he just had to accept the ebb and flow that was the course of any sentient relationship over time. No matter what the future held, in that moment, he was prepared to face it. He was accepting of his fate, even if his reality turned out to be one he would not choose for himself if given the choice.   
  
Obi-Wan must have felt an echo of his understanding, for the smile he gave was small, and bittersweet. Anakin saw a glimpse from his mind's eye – of a severe, beautiful face with twinkling blue eyes – and knew that, in his own way, he understood.  
  
That was a conversation he would very dearly like to have with Obi-Wan later. Yet, until then: “I've brought a way to entertain ourselves, if you would indulge me,” Obi-Wan patted the satchel at his side. “I've heard that these things take . . . quite some time, and I've lost my best _cu'bikad_ partner with Cody being down.”   
  
Anakin understood the distraction for the diversionary tactic it was, but he inclined his head to allow it. He flashed Obi-Wan a grateful smile. “If you're prepared to lose, Master,” he felt his teeth show, “then sure. I'm game.”  
  
“Careful, young one,” Obi-Wan's eyes glittered. “Don't think that I'll take it easy on you just because your wife is in labor.”  
  
“I wouldn't have it any other way,” Anakin pressed his hands together as Obi-Wan set the board up on one of the waiting room's tables. As he picked up his first knife, he found a sort of calm settle over him as he focused on the game rather than the play of life and death that he instinctively felt they were narrowly skirting with the events of the day.  
  
  
  
.

.  
  
Anakin lasted one round of _cu'bikad_ before his inattention to the game had Obi-Wan sighing and shooing him back to Padmé's side. He did not worry overly much about leaving Obi-Wan alone, however - the Mandalorian pastime had intrigued the men of the Naberrie clan, and between them and Sabé there were more than enough new players to go around. He would even wager on Sabé winning a round or two against the Jedi Master – if, unlike Anakin, she could concentrate without being distracted by the events carrying on in the birthing room, that was.  
  
He returned just as Padmé was getting situated in bed again. Her ever motion was taut with discomfort, and her body was clearly restless as she squirmed about to ease her torment. Even to his eyes, her contractions were growing more and more insistent; they were closer together now, and coming faster. She had little time between the swells to recover, and her breath came fast and heavy from the panting furnace of her lungs. All the while, her flock of physicians fluttered about her in an easy, practiced way. Watching them and their calm miens in the face of her distress helped anchor Anakin in his own storm of feeling - to the barest degree, that was. The babies were right where they needed to be, he was relieved to hear the midwife assure – one of the biggest worries in a natural twin birth was that of a potential breech – and, so far, everything was proceeding as expected.  
  
If this was _normal_ , Anakin nevertheless thought with some bewilderment, then he would hate to see _complications_ in a birth. The thought alone felt as a stone sinking in his gut.  
  
Time became immaterial to him as an hour went by, and then another. They were coming upon the twenty hour mark now, and, far from the long build and sudden cresting of each wave of contractions, Padmé's pains now pounded against her body like the ocean surf in the midst of a hurricane. She was tired – so tired already, he could feel, but her determination was still fervently burning as she bore down to see her labor through to its conclusion. She no longer bantered with him; she hardly spoke at all. Padmé was lost in the trials of her body, and every ounce of her attention was focused on the fledgling lives she was determined to bring into the world. Anakin only knew of her awareness of his presence by the way her small fingers gripped his hand for support; by the way her head sagged against his shoulder whenever her body allowed her a moment to catch her breath.  
  
More than once, he found himself wishing that he was better versed in the more delicate aspects of the Force. He was no healer; he could not even coax a _bruise_ to mend, no matter the staggering depths of his own power. He tried, in his own way, to sooth the least of her tribulations – he reached out to give her body what strength he could, even as he attempted to coax the twins to do their part and make her job easier. At the very least, he pushed his support and awe and _love_ to her in overwhelming waves of excess. No matter that she was not a Jedi, she was sensitive enough to the Force that she could feel a shadow of his feelings, and understood his gift for what it was. Even that little bit, he could feel from the tight grasp of her hand, was enough.  
  
At long last, their first baby - _their son_ \- was crowning. With a new-found reserve of energy, Padmé listened when the midwife told her to _push,_ and she strained with all of her might to bear their son. She had given up on attempting to silence her body's reactions to the pain hours ago, and though she did not scream like some of the women Anakin remembered from Tatooine, her outcries still twisted at his heart. “You're doing great, love, you're doing great,” he found himself murmuring in a constant mantra, pressing his lips to her brow and _hoping_ as he had never hoped before.  
  
Luke was born with a final, fervent rally of strength on Padmé's part. At first, Anakin could not hear his son's gurgled voice over his wife's labored breathing before Luke's screams turned _deafening._ Then, they were all he could hear.  
  
“Luke?” Padmé found the breath to ask on a raw tone of voice. She tried to peer over the shoulder of the waiting physician who had stepped forward to take the baby, while the midwife stayed with her. “Luke? How is he? Is he - ”  
  
“ - he is small,” was the distracted answer they got from the healer. All twins were small, Anakin reminded himself, and they would have to be closely monitored for the first few days of their lives. “But he's healthy, as far as my eyes can see – I will know more in a moment, milady.”  
  
That was not enough to satisfy Padmé, however, and she looked at her mother with a clear, plaintive expression. Jobal well understood and, after squeezing her daughter's shoulder one last time, she rose to go and look after her grandson. Anakin stayed by his wife's side with his heart hammering and his mouth dry as the weight of his responsibilities suddenly crashed down on him. A son . . . he now had a _son_ to guide and shape and _nurture_. The idea was no longer an abstract concept in the back of his mind; now, it was a tangible reality looming real and expectant before him.  
  
. . . yet, that was only half of his reality, he did not have to remind himself. Now, his daughter . . .  
  
Minutes passed, but she was not immediately coming. It was taking too long, he thought as more time elapsed, with the seconds dragging by as hours to his senses. Too long had passed; much too long. He could feel every empty, expectant moment prickle against his skin like needle tips. Something was not right.  
  
Anakin stared at the frowning midwife, and had to consciously measure his voice to ask, “What is wrong?” with a calmness he did not feel. Not nearly.  
  
“The girl has shifted,” the midwife responded in a measured voice, but only after she finished her examination. Her pause had Anakin fighting the instinct to stand and loom over the healer while _demanding_ his answers – even if that meant he had to take them by force. But he immediately slammed that dark instinct down, deep down inside of him, unwilling as he was to disturb his daughter even further. The midwife's mouth made a thin line before confirming, “She is now feet first in the womb.”  
  
That was not how babies were supposed to be born - even Anakin knew that - and he felt a sharp knife of _worry anger fear_ strike through his gut and _tear_. He sucked in a shaky breath. The strength of Padmé's hand was suddenly crushing as it squeezed his own.  
  
“Do not be alarmed; not yet. Her heartbeat is still strong - she is not in distress,” the midwife continued, her tone pitched in a practiced, soothing timbre. It did not calm Anakin in the slightest, no matter its well-meaning intentions. “I can assist with the birth and deliver her this way, or I can operate if this becomes too much on the mother.”  
  
“No,” Padmé's voice was suddenly strong to insist. “ _No_. I can do this. I do not want to operate after - ”  
  
“ - Padmé,” Anakin found himself cautioning. He did not want to disregard anything that could help his wife, _his wife_ , live long enough to raise their children with him. His heartbeat was an overwhelming pressure in his chest as his blood pounded in his ears. “Love, perhaps it would be better if - ”  
  
“ - _no_. I have come this far,” Padmé's voice was a low hiss of sound as she locked eyes with him. She still had not lessened her grip on his hand. If anything, she squeezed tighter. “Let me do this. I _know_ I can do this.”  
  
Still, Anakin hesitated. He stared at her, feeling her determination and her strength and the raw, pulsing _life_ that burned through her in that moment. He could feel his daughter, too – he could feel her distress and her bewilderment and her fear. In a strange way, he knew that she was looking for her brother, and he understood her grief: she did not know where or how to find him. She wanted to be born; she merely needed guidance.  
  
Yet, his _wife_ . . .  
  
He looked down at her, his expression torn, every instinct within him howling to keep her with him by any means necessary, even if that meant . . .  
  
“I'm stronger than your visions, Anakin. I will not leave you,” Padmé vowed on a low tone of voice, baring her teeth as if _daring_ the universe to prove her wrong. Her face then contorted in a wince as her body rippled with pain anew, trying to move the child in her womb but to no avail. “I will not leave _my children_.”  
  
“And your daughter wants to come _now_ ,” the midwife said. Their decision was then made for them. “One way or another, she's not staying put.”  
  
“ . . . alright,” Anakin fought for acceptance - he fought to _let go_ \- as he settled back in next to Padmé. “Alright.” He swallowed his own fear, and instead focused on the tenacity blazing from his wife in golden bands of light, burning like a small star to his preternatural senses. His daughter was already an impossibly bright spark to match, and he reached out to her, forgetting his own _anger_ _terror panic_ in favor of guiding her through _her_ fear and confusion. He was a father now; that duty came before himself. He was no longer a single entity, existing alone; he could never make a selfish decision again.  
  
 _Your mother and I want to meet you,_ _sweetheart_ , he tried to convey without words. _Your brother is waiting for you,_ _too_ _. Come on now, and this will all be over._  
  
He could feel her uncertainty as the midwife reached in to try and guide her. She could feel an alien pressure tugging on her feet, and it frightened her. _She wanted her brother,_ that unformed thought was a wail throbbing from her spirit. Her fear only intensified as she felt a shadow of her mother's distress and pain, and, well understanding, Anakin reached out with his senses to assure her: _T_ _here is nothing to fear. I've got you, little one . . ._ _I promise._  
  
Though she could not wholly understand him, Anakin knew that she recognized him. She already took comfort from his presence; she already associated his voice with _protection_ _love_ _home_. As vaguely as her young mind could process, she trusted him; her spirit knew _belonging_ alongside his own. Where he usually summoned and battered the Force about with all the strength of a tidal wave, he then shielded his daughter's consciousness in a hazy glow of warm light. With a delicacy he did not know he first possessed, he used the Living Force to soothe, to _protect._ Then, just as the midwife worked in tandem with Padmé's contractions, she gave in and yielded to the unknown.  
  
Anakin could feel the exact moment when his daughter came into the world - the opposite of how she should have, perhaps, but then, she _was_ a Skywalker.  
  
“What a brave little girl you are,” he could hear the midwife croon at the pink, squirming little creature that immediately started squalling with a healthy set of lungs to voice her displeasure. She was cold; she was sticky and wet; and she _still_ wanted her brother. In spite of himself, Anakin could not hold back a relieved burst of laughter as he felt an echo of her frustration and dissatisfaction _blaze_ in the Force. She was not at all happy, but she was _alive_. She was alive and healthy, just as her brother was alive and healthy, while, her mother . . .  
  
\- _her mother_.  
  
He looked, fear spiking a wild rise in his heart when he saw his wife's closed eyes, but Padmé was merely exhausted - pushed past her physical limits and beyond. She sagged back against her sweat soaked pillows and took a moment to recover from her ordeal. Her hair stuck to her face and her skin was both pale and flushed with exertion in turns, but she had never looked more beautiful to his eyes. She breathed, he could see the clear rise and fall of her chest: _she lived_ , he could feel with an irrefutable knowledge in the Force. She was still there with him; he had not lost her. Instead, they had gained -  
  
“Your son,” Jobal interrupted his thoughts. “He is ready to meet you, my dears.”  
  
Just like that, Padmé's eyes snapped open, and her weariness left her expression as she pushed her fatigue aside. Anakin helped her sit up against her pillows, while Jobal rocked the baby boy in her arms. Then, Padmé was settled and they were being passed . . .  
  
\- such an impossibly small bundle, he marveled to see. Anakin sat on the bed with his wife, his right arm wrapped around her shoulders and his organic hand patiently waiting to touch his son for the first time. He peered down as Padmé gently pulled the blanket back to reveal a tiny, scrunched up little face with closed eyes. . . such a tiny, _perfect_ little face.  
  
“He's so small,” Anakin breathed. Awe was a whispered thread in his voice, even as it pounded through his veins with an exhilarating beat. Carefully – so carefully – be curled his fingers and stroked his son's downy cheek. His skin was so soft, so warm; the wispy fuzz of his dark blonde hair was a texture unlike anything Anakin had felt before. He marveled to commit each sensation to memory.  
  
“He'll grow quickly,” Padmé's voice was a low, awed mutter to match. “Too quickly for my taste, I suspect.”  
  
At the sound of his mother's voice, large, deep blue eyes blinked. Luke's brow furrowed in confusion before understanding roused him from his sleep. The infant fussed, squirming in Padmé's arms as small, gurgled noises escaped the open moue of his mouth. Hunger warred for confusion in Anakin's sense of his son; the boy could not choose between his desire to nurse and his anxiety for his sister. Both were causing him to whimper, and he cried.  
  
“Shh, shh,” Anakin instinctively soothed, reaching out with the Force even as he stroked his fingertips back over Luke's head. “She'll be here soon, little one, hold on.”  
  
Then, Luke stilled as he heard him, and the baby looked up at him – _him_ , and, in the Force . . .  
  
. . . had such a light ever existed prior to then? Anakin marveled. They called _him_ Chosen, but he was certain that the Force had never settled in another being like this before. In that moment, he couldn't remember why he had ever doubted. He couldn't remember why he ever feared. The pall of his visions was then impossibly far away . . . for how could the shadow of the Dark Side ever think to encroach on such a sure warmth, on such a _light_ as this?  
  
“See?” there was a throaty, satisfied pride in Padmé's voice. “I told you I was stronger than your visions. That was no worse than a bad day at the Senate . . . ”  
  
He snorted, knowing that, in manner of speaking, she was not completely wrong. “You,” he whispered, pressing another kiss against her temple, “were _amazing_.”  
  
Padmé leaned back against him, boneless with contentment. No matter her weariness, she could not keep her eyes away from their son. She tucked the blanket more securely around him and sighed, a deep exhalation of breath from her chest. “I could not have done this without you,” she admitted. “I thank the Force that you were here.”  
  
“There is nowhere else I could have been,” Anakin assured her, even while knowing that . . .  
  
. . . but no. _No._ His dreams had no place here; not any more. His premonitions were of another time, another place, he already distantly suspected. Instead of that future, now, with him, he had . . .  
  
“There is nowhere else I will ever be,” he gave his vow with a strong, sure voice. Anakin said nothing more than that as Padmé closed her eyes, Luke safely held in her arms. Instead, he held his small family close, for the moment content to forget anything and everything else.  
  
  
  
.  
  
.  
  
After Leia was deemed healthy and ready to join them, they spent their first moments as an entire family, together. Then, after Padmé passed a last exam by the midwife, Anakin helped her over to the 'fresher to wash up from her ordeal. While she got clean again, her sheets were changed, and she returned to sink into bed with no small amount of relief as soon as she was able. Anakin left only after the twins were fed once more, and his wife closed her eyes for a much deserved rest.  
  
He carried Leia out to the waiting room, while Jobal carried Luke – automatically steering towards her husband to introduce him to their grandson. Anakin brought Leia too, and felt warmth engulf him as Ruwee locked eyes with him. After a long moment, the patriarch of the Naberrie clan inclined his head. The worst of his visions had not come to pass, and the man had both his daughter and grandchildren safe and healthy. Though Anakin knew that he still had ground to make up to repair the lies they had so long told, he was relieved to know that he still _had_ that ground available to him. It had not fallen out from underneath them.  
  
After Leia was passed around her mother's family, Anakin turned to where Obi-Wan was wrapping up a conversation with Master Ti in the far corner of the waiting room. Seeing his approach, and undoubtedly wishing to forestall any premature questions the sight of him with a babe in arms would bring, Obi-Wan ended the call with his fellow council-member with more haste than he would normally extend. The blue transmission winked away, and Anakin then had his former Master's full attention. Or, rather, the child in his arms did.  
  
“The girl?” Obi-Wan asked to make sure. “ . . . your daughter?” He spoke as if the idea was still an impossible, foreign concept to his mind, but Anakin could see the soft line his smile made. The seemingly permanent shadows around his eyes - ever deepening as the war dragged on and on - lightened. A more familiar hue returned to his eyes, turning them more blue than grey . . . the changes were so subtle that Anakin had not first noticed them for how gradual they had been. He felt a matching weariness bite at his own heart before he pushed it away. Instead, he focused only on his joy, and shared that joy in turn.  
  
“Her name is Leia,” Anakin whispered, feeling her soft contentment glow in the Force as she bordered on sleeping once more. “It's Old Naboo – for _meadow._ ”  
  
It was a special meaning for he and his wife; honoring the time when his nameless fascination and vague attraction for the _idea_ that was Padmé solidified into something real . . . something more. He still counted that idyll in the Lake Country amongst the happiest days of his life.  
  
“Leia Skywalker,” Obi-Wan whispered, and at the sound of her name, his daughter shifted in his arms. Anakin could feel her thoughts sharpen towards awareness. Her mind already moved so quickly; she processed everything around her in a way that was all her mother, he could already well recognize, and marvel for. “ _Leia_.”  
  
But, even though Anakin stood close to Obi-Wan with an invitation clear in his stance, the older man still carefully kept his hands at his sides. He did not reach out to touch the baby, let alone try to hold her. Yet, Anakin knew . . .  
  
“Do you want to hold her?” he offered outright. He tilted Leia in his arms as if to pass her, all the while being certain to keep a firm grip on her; he would not let her go.  
  
“She . . . she's so tiny,” Obi-wan whispered – more to himself than to Anakin, before his focus shifted. His attention centered, and he looked up to admit, “I do not . . . I don't know what to do with a baby.” He swallowed, clearly at war with himself. “I am not sure if I am the best - ”  
  
“ - and you think that _I_ have any idea what I'm doing?” Anakin could not help but interrupt. He snorted, and held Leia more tightly in his arms. “It's . . . instinct, really. If it is for me, then it most certainly should be for you. Now, take the baby.”  
  
Even still, Obi-Wan hesitated. He opened his mouth, but before he could demure again Anakin was passing Leia over. He gave his former Master no choice in the matter. Then, it was a brief shuffling of arms and such tiny, squirming limbs - allowing Obi-Wan no choice but to react. Jedi reflexes - no, _human_ reflexes - kicked in, and he instinctively cradled her body in a strong, sure grip. He was overly careful to support her head; she was still small enough to be swallowed in his embrace, never mind how quickly she would grow from there on out. Leia was tucked in his arms as securely as she had been in her father's, leaving Obi-Wan to simply gape down in wonder. He stared, wide-eyed and awed for the tiny little creature who stared back at him with curious, luminous brown eyes. She had her mother's eyes, Anakin had been overjoyed to see. Already her hair was a dark brown color, wisping down over her brow in a thicker crown than her brother's. She would grow into a beautiful woman, Anakin could foresee – although he was sure that all fathers felt as such when looking at their daughters for the first. He felt his heart swell, with all the love and pride he felt within seemingly fit to burst. He did not know how it was possible to contain such a feeling; it was too much to hold onto and keep to himself.  
  
The Force swirled around him, languid and content, and the deep, serene sea of power soothed his Master as much as it did him. A part of Obi-Wan was invigorated, he could feel. He looked down on Leia as if all that was potentially bright and beautiful in life had been returned to him; everything good in the universe then seemed possible again. In his own way, Anakin knew exactly how he felt.  
  
“She's perfect,” Obi-Wan finally breathed. _She is_ _more than_ _worth it_ , Anakin could hear him think, even if the sentiment was not spoken outright. Not then. His family was worth everything that he would now have to -  
  
\- but, that was a thought for later. He would not dwell on it then . . . not yet.  
  
Feeling an echo of his thoughts, Obi-Wan looked up again. He fought a frown, and only hesitated a moment before asking, “And, you, Anakin? Are you - ”  
  
“ - I'm okay, Master,” Anakin understood what he meant to ask, and interrupted him to assure. The words were truthful, and whole; he omitted nothing. “I'm more at peace than I've ever been.” No matter what would happen next.  
  
He could have ended there. Obi-Wan would have been satisfied, and, once, he would have only said the scant minimum it took to assuage his former Master's concern. Yet . . .  
  
“It's strange when I think about it,” even so, he continued. Obi-Wan blinked at him, as if surprised by his voluntarily speaking of his innermost thoughts . . . of his fears. When had their relationship become so strained? Anakin wondered. When had it ever been so easy between them, at that? . . . that admittance was a more painful one to make, but it was a truth he could not so easily ignore. He could only endeavor to fix it now that he had the time and opportunity to do so. “In my visions,” he found a strength returning to his voice to continue, “ . . . in the dreams I have been having. The future I see . . . it's such a dark, awful time. It's a galaxy with so little light, and I fear . . .”  
  
 _. . . I fear that there is something in me capable of causing that –_ _even still_ _._ He thought, but did not say. He knew that Obi-Wan was capable of hearing him across their bond, even so. _Did I . . . could I . . ._  
  
 _. . ._ _and, yet_ will _I_ _cause_ _-_  
  
“ - dreams are strange things,” Obi-Wan mused aloud before his thoughts could continue down such a dark path. His voice was softly intoned; he'd understood the offering of words for all of its intentions and more. “Perhaps you truly did see a possible outcome of today's events. Maybe, through your actions, you somehow subverted it.”  
  
“I do not know how,” Anakin was bewildered to admit. “I didn't truly _do_ anything.”  
  
“Perhaps, there is a lesson to be learned in that as well,” Obi-Wan was easy to accept their reality for what it was. He reached down to tuck up Leia's blanket when she squirmed to free her tiny hands, still enchanted as he was by the infant in his arms. She reached out to curiously inspect Obi-Wan's index finger, and at the strength in her impossibly small grip, his expression melted completely. He was smitten.  
  
“You'll always play the role of the teacher, won't you?” even so, Anakin could not help but tease. He felt his son approach, and looked over to see Sabé walking towards them with Luke in her arms so that she could take her turn with Leia. Even her normally serene expression was touched with a smile she could not hide.  
  
“Oh, always,” Obi-Wan did not bother denying it. Instead, he looked down at Leia as if she were a gift from the Force itself. “Something tells me that I am not nearly done imparting my wisdom, at that.”  
  
. . . Padmé's sharp mind and _both_ of her parents' stubborn determination, molded by the Negotiator himself . . . already a tantalizing, happy glimpse of the future whispered across his senses. Briefly, Anakin wondered if the galaxy was ready for such a combination; mostly, though, he simply could not wait.  
  
As he turned to introduce his son to Obi-Wan, the Force swirled around him in a lazy, pulsing stream of contentment. Lost in that moment of abject serenity, the future he had somehow subverted seemed very far away indeed.  
  
  
  
.  
  
.  
  
And, deep in the stasis of an artificial night, Darth Vader dreamed . . .  
  
. . . and yearned.  
  



	3. III

Obi-Wan could only linger until nightfall before returning to Coruscant and his responsibilities there. The day following, Yoda informed the Council that he was leaving Master Unduli to wrap up matters on Kashyyyk, and would soon be inbound for the capital. It was then, with great reluctance, that Anakin left his family behind to join the Masters of the Order in officially asking Chancellor Palpatine to resign his war-time powers.

“You are his friend,” Obi-Wan had been the one to cautiously suggest. Even in the blue cast of the holofeed, a careful neutrality was tucked in the corners of his expression. “I have a sense that you should be there; it's a feeling I cannot shake.”

For one outcome or another went unspoken, but Anakin brushed Obi-Wan's reservations aside as he always did. On the contrary, he saw this as an opportunity for Palpatine to regain the trust of the Jedi, to prove that he was more than their doubts and misgivings. Then, together, they could all move forward to put the Secession Crisis behind them.

Though he'd grown used to saying goodbye to his wife over the course of their marriage – despairingly so, it was then harder than ever before to leave his new family behind. Looking down on Padmé, who was cradling a dozing Luke while he held Leia, he felt his heart clench. His smile was brittle; the longing in his eyes was transparent. He did not want to go.

But, for the time being, he had responsibilities that went beyond the scope of his family. For sake of that duty, he would see these last few days through before accepting the judgment of the Council – for one outcome or another.

“Just . . . be careful, Ani,” Padmé tried one last time as he shouldered his pack to leave. “Power is a toxic thing, and it can go to the heads of even the best men. The Sheev we both admire could have lost his way, no matter his best intentions when starting out. Please, don't let your guard down.”

“Of course I'll be careful, love,” Anakin leaned down to kiss her goodbye. Reluctantly, he passed Leia to her mother and watched as the girl instinctively turned towards her brother before settling in against Padmé. “You don't need to worry.” He ran a tender hand over both of his children, breathing in their sweet baby scents and memorizing their drowsy contentment in the Force before finally turning to leave.

He could feel the warm glow of his family until he broke the atmosphere over Naboo, and then the distance between the stars stretched his senses as he made the jump to hyperspace. Even so, his wife and children remained an ember burning in the back of his mind, and he was never quite unaware of them – even as he requested landing clearance from Coruscant's planetary control and started his descent.

It felt . . . strange, returning to the capital. He felt different as he walked through the halls of the Jedi Temple; changed on a deeper level than he first realized whilst soujurned on Naboo. Though the Temple had never quite felt as home to him - not in the way his mother's hut on Tatooine had - this was still a place that had defined and shaped him into the man he now was. For the first time in far too long . . . perhaps, for the first time ever, he did not feel ill at ease as he walked through the vaulted arches and passed alongside the whispering fountains. The thrumming currents of peace and serenity that were the combined presence of several thousand Jedi, compounded and compressed over a thousand years, no longer snagged on his own eddies of restless energy. He no longer felt the light as a pressure; he no longer bruised underneath the weight of its expectations.

Instead -

“ - Knight Skywalker,” Mace Windu's greeting was a whip-crack against the contented hum of his thoughts. Hearing him, Anakin turned from the interior corridor and walked out onto one of the landing platforms, high on the walls of the west Temple base. There was a strong wind that afternoon, snapping at his cloak; the constant whine of the air-lanes was a droning noise in his ears. “We're glad that you could return in time to join us. Obi-Wan was . . . most insistent on your presence.”

“I'm grateful for the consideration of the Council, Master Windu. The chancellor has a chance to show us his best side, and I believe he'll take it,” Anakin bowed his head in greeting. For once, the motion did not rankle; it was simply a gesture of respect, not a subservient motion proving that he had thrown off one yoke only to assume another. He could feel Obi-Wan move to stand at his right, close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed, and his presence further balanced him.

But Windu was still staring at him; his eyes were blunt and probing. “Was your . . . quest successful, then?” the Korun Jedi asked. Anakin could feel the weight of his question reverberate through the Force, spidering out along the chaotic web of cause and effect that was each and every sentient choice in the universe. Mace Windu's talent was singular, and Anakin knew better than to shy from it. He did not recoil from the search; instead, he held his thoughts still.

“I saw my vision through to the end, yes, Master.” Years of practice had taught him how to tell the truth without revealing the truth, yet the flush of _guilt defiance shame_ he normally felt for doing so was then absent. It was only a matter of time, and then all would surface; all would come to light. The newfound lightness of his conscience was a liberating thing.

“Hmm, much change I sense in you, young one.” At first a silent presence further out on the platform, Master Yoda's was a harder probe to shield from. Anakin respectfully bowed his head and allowed the Grandmaster of the Order to seek out what he would, carefully tucking the ember of his family away for a little while longer still. “Much have we to discuss later, I foresee.”

“Yes, Master,” Anakin allowed. That much he agreed with in its entirety. “ . . . we do.”

Standing at his side, Anakin could feel Obi-Wan's pride as a bright splash of light in the Force. No matter his fate in the Jedi Order, knowing that he would always have his former Master's support and approval soothed him. It bolstered him. Quelling the leap of anticipation in his heart, of apprehension and resignation both, he inclined his head to focus on the task at hand.

He had one last duty to fulfill. Then, his future as a Jedi was out of his hands.

 

 

.

.

“Why, gentlemen.” Sheev Palpatine stood to see so many Masters of the Order file into his office. “And ladies,” he added when he saw Master Ti amongst those gathered. The Togruta Jedi stood tall next to Obi-Wan's left, her montrals sweeping back with a proud tilt of her head as she levelly met the chancellor's gaze. “What an unexpected surprise this is.”

Though the chancellor's voice was as warm with welcome as it ever was, Anakin could feel a disquieting thrum of _threat patience caution_ vibrate through the Force. The sensation set his teeth on edge, and he looked about, wondering which of his fellow Jedi was emitting such a terrible backlash of power. He saw nothing that gave the source away, nor did anyone else give an indication that they felt what was clear as day to Anakin. Briefly, he wondered if he was the only one who could feel the negative energy. The sensation was lined with teeth.

“Your Excellency,” Yoda took his place at the head of their group, shuffling forward to stand before the trio of Mace Windu, Ki-Adi-Mundi, and Plo Koon. “Long you have led the Republic through a dark time. Now, ask we must that you give back the powers you have accepted.”

“It's time to return the Senate to the people,” Mace Windu's voice was a strong slash of sound. Anakin could feel the force behind his words break over his skin like a wave.

“With the brunt of the Separatists' military force broken, and their governing members reaching out for talks of peace,” Ki-Adi-Mundi's voice was cordial, but firm, “we are here to officially demand that you hand over your war-time powers.”

“The Republic is grateful for your service,” Plo Koon's words softened the blow of their visit, but there was steel in the shape of his spine and the set of his shoulders. “Yet, surely you too see the wisdom in returning to the ways of democracy, now that the threat has waned.”

A long moment passed, pregnant with promise. Anakin felt the sensation of _threat patience caution_ crackle. It threatened to break.

“And the Jedi have the authority to . . . request such a thing of me?” Palpatine's voice was threaded with amusement. He sat back in his seat, with his hands steepled before his chin. His cool smile did not reach his eyes. “I serve at the will of the people, and until the people ask for me to let go - ”

“ - our presence here is in concert with the will of the people; we do not act alone. This has been signed by the Loyalist Committee, and others; we have the baking of enough voices in the Senate to see our motion through with a vote. Our coming to you first is simply a courtesy, allowing you the chance to step down gracefully before the motion moves in the Senate to force you to do so.”

Mace Windu stepped forward to place a holochip on the chancellor's desk – the list of senators' names, Anakin assumed. After him, Plo Koon placed a small comm-unit down on the desk, and, from it, three quarter-sized blue holograms sprang. Anakin started to see his wife as one of the figures, standing tall and proud in her full senate regalia, with not a trace of her recent labor apparent in either her appearance or bearing. Padmé briefly glanced to meet his eyes, and he could see the warmth - and concern - in her gaze before she blinked it away.

“Senators Organa, Mothma, and Amidala, respectively, have agreed to witness this motion,” the Kel Door Jedi rumbled. “We take no agency of our own, Your Excellency. We act in concert with the will of the people.”

Palpatine thumbed on the holochip, a genial expression in place as he scrolled through the blue list of holographic names. There were many, Anakin espied, from amongst his supporters and detractors both. Even he was surprised by the number of signatures.

For a long moment, Palpatine did not speak. The silence stretched, adding to Anakin's feeling of foreboding. But then the chancellor did something surprising: he laughed. The sound was low and pleasant - delighted, almost. It sent a chill up and down Anakin's spine.

“Oh my, my, my,” Palpatine took his time in recovering his composure. “I always thought that it would come to this, but now, to actually see it play out . . . I am disappointed, Masters . . . most disappointed indeed.”

Unexpectedly, the chancellor's attention then turned; it snapped to him, ignoring both the Jedi and senators to singularly focus on the junior-most person in the room. Anakin felt the queer urge to take a step back, but managed to hold his ground. By his side, Obi-Wan visibly tensed.

“Anakin,” the chancellor addressed him with warm familiarity. “Surely you, at least, see this . . . fallacy for what it is.”

A dozen eyes focused on him, and he heard the Force swirl as if to whisper: _tread lightly_. He felt the entity of energy pause to hold its breath, seemingly waiting to see how he would respond. Carefully, as if he stepped out onto dangerous footing with hidden fault-lines, he started, “My friend, you have led the Republic though a difficult time of great need. But that threat has now passed; it's time to step back and let democracy resume its course.”

“Democracy,” Palpatine made the word - an idea that good men and innocent sentients had fought and _died_ for the whole galaxy wide - sound like a curse. His mouth made an ugly line on his face - a foreign expression that Anakin could not first equate with the gentle man he thought he knew. “What is democracy, really?” Palpatine countered. “Is it the will of the people? Hardly. Democracy is nothing more than bickering committees and endless debates, with the powerful extending favors to the powerful only if they think they have something to gain in return. But, let the people have their illusion of control, and they will accept anything that is decided for them, far above their heads. Yes . . . _democracy_. But, what power does democracy truly have to change things for the better? Can democracy bring peace? . . . can it save innocents? . . . can it end slavery? Can it protect those you love – _truly_ protect them, Anakin?”

His words hit something deep within Anakin; they struck. Tiny, at first seemingly inconsequential opinions he'd brushed aside over and over again for years seemingly surfaced all at once. His mind itched; his thoughts were suddenly brittle – as if a hundred little seeds were struggling to sprout up through everything that was himself in his psyche. It was a singular sensation, and the room swam dizzily before him. Anakin swallowed, but found it difficult to find his center. He glanced to see Padmé's worried eyes staring at him. She did not try to hide the feeling therein, not this time.

“With the war done,” he struggled to find his words. He felt as if he spoke through a haze, “We can turn our attention inwards.” Anakin did not deny the chancellor's claims – he could not, not when he agreed with them to a certain extent. But he still countered them. There were good people in the Senate, who truly wanted to make a difference - too many to give up on the Republic entirely. From his wife to Bail Organa and Mon Mothma and -

\- _but they are hopelessly outnumbered_ , something darker . . . something dangerous whispered in his mind. _You cannot patch a hole over corruption when that corruption is not a leak, but a tide. This is the same Republic that could not protect its citizens - that pushed so many of its star-systems into outright civil war to begin with . . . this is the Republic that could not save your mother, that kept you from her side through the Jedi's ridiculous doctrines and inhuman dogmas . . . this is the same Republic that demanded that you, a peacekeeper, pick up a sword and lead the very slaves you first wanted to free -_

Anakin frowned, and lifted a hand to cradle his head, uncaring of who would see. The Jedi in the room, though they could not hear what Anakin heard, at last felt the sense of _threat patience caution_ as it rose. The patience ebbed – horribly so; _danger_ took its place.

“Yet, how do you think that the war was started, if not by fissures in the Senate widening and finally breaking away after so many fruitlessly protested such corruption for too long?” Palpatine levelly replied. He merely blinked to observe him; concern did not once touch his eyes. “No, you need strength - you need one, absolute voice speaking, _telling_ the masses what they should do and how they should do it. That is the only way to true peace; that is the only way to protect . . . why, everyone you care about . . . isn't that true, Anakin?”

In a terrible way, the words sounded logical; they made sense. And, yet . . . he shook his head, trying to dislodge the whisper from his thoughts, the whisper that was growing louder to say -

\- _I can be that one, absolute leader – search your feelings, you know this to be true._ The voice in his mind finally gave up all pretense of masquerading as his own thoughts to speak outright. It was a familiar voice . . . a beloved voice, and Anakin started to hear it speak, not upon the air but deep within his innermost mind - directly into the center of his being, as only Obi-Wan or Ahsoka would do. But they were those whom he trusted and loved and allowed the privilege of doing so. Instead of gently flowing between their minds, as such speech did with his Master and Padawan, the voice pushed itself into his consciousness to overwhelm and state: _The Jedi fear me for what I can become; they are jealous. They do not want a voice in the Republic speaking with more authority than their own. They want to silence me before seeing what true peace I can bring._

_For, if there is peace – real, lasting peace, what need is there then, for peacekeepers?_

Anakin blinked, and stared at Palpatine. He could not first process what was happening. “How?” he forced the single word to form aloud, not trusting his power to shape the thought between their minds. The Force was too much of a hurricane at his fingertips, answering his distress, when he needed only a breeze. “How are you . . . ” but he could not finish his sentence. He struggled to find his words as the voice in his head seemingly tugged on every little seed in his mind - painstakingly planted over time by a patient, _foreign_ gardener, and those seeds then _burst_. They sprouted from their deep roots and grew with a frenetic intensity, tangled and thorny and black as pitch to tear through his psyche. Anakin wavered on his feet.

_This galaxy – my galaxy, will have no need for peacekeepers . . . but there must always be two, and I am only one. I want – need you by my side, Anakin, to ensure – to guarantee this peace. There are powers in the universe beyond your wildest imaginings: powers that the Jedi don't want you to have. They know your full potential, but they are holding you back. They are keeping you from your true power . . . from your wife . . ._

_. . . and from your children._

But there, Palpatine erred. He stepped too far when sifting through his recent most memories. Summoned to the forefront of his mind, even the _thought_ of Luke and Leia cut a spot of brightness through his mental landscape. Feeling the chancellor's almost hungry curiosity for the clear power his children already displayed, a tiny crack tore through the dark, bright in its intensity. Then, that barest veil drew back and allowed -

_\- Anakin?_

_Anakin!_

Obi-Wan's presence needed no more of an opening than that to push its way into his mind. His former Master zeroed in on that one bright spot, and anchored his own consciousness against the maelstrom of toxic miasma that Anakin struggled to combat. Anakin could feel his horror and revulsion for the thorny rifts tearing through his mind - the work of many, _many_ years - before his determination blazed brighter than his abhorrence. The light from their bond soothed as a balm, and Anakin recovered enough strength to summon the one clear thought he could:

_Master, I think that Palpatine is . . ._

_\- I know_ , Obi-Wan did not need for him to explain. Instead, his presence reached to give him a mental hand out of his own mind, pulling him upwards until -

\- with a single, fluid motion, Anakin's lightsaber was in hand and ignited. “You are the Sith Lord,” he declared with absolute certainty - daring Palpatine to counter him. “All this time, and _you_ are the one we've been searching for.”

No matter how strong his words were, his hands trembled over the hilt of his weapon. The pall Obi-Wan was able to draw back from his mind was unsteady in its confines; it flickered. Anakin could feel perspiration break out on his brow for the amount of effort it took to remain _himself_. Disturbingly, his eyes burned - as if his irises were swimming with flame.

_You are the Sith Lord . . . you are the reason Master Jinn died, his spirit nonetheless wailed . . . You are the reason this war has gone on for so long . . . you are the reason I have led so many and lost so many while innocents have been sacrificed on the altar of your twisted vision of how the galaxy should be. All of this for your sick desire for power and greed for -_

His rage was a thunderous thing as it built; potent and consuming.

 _You lied to me_ , he thought next. The knowledge of that was a wound, throbbing over the tender parts of his spirit. He still could not wholly comprehend the enormity of the betrayal. _I trusted you; I thought that you cared for me - loved me, even._ Me, _and not my . . ._

Potential. Power. Rage. _Pain_. The very idea that he had qualities that appealed to the . . . _grotesque_ creature at the desk sickened Anakin. He could not at first acknowledge the thought.

For the seconds he struggled, however, his declaration brought an instantaneous reaction as every Jedi in the room ignited their weapons to follow suit. He did not have to explain himself. He was instantly trusted; he was instantly supported. Feeling the power of so many Masters at his back – at last understanding the mental anguish he had been undergoing and sensing: Palpatine lying and Palpatine _manipulating_ – cast off blinders on Anakin's eyes that had too long been present. No matter their flaws, the fact remained that the Jedi were good men and woman who tried to make the right decisions and do the right thing. Cutting through Palpatine's insistence of their indifference, to feel those same Jedi he had so long doubted trust him without any spoken proof or explanation . . . following him as one Chosen . . .

He would still have quite the tangled nest of thoughts to sort through later, Anakin knew. Yet, for that moment, he simply braced himself against the wide, worried look Padmé cast and the strong, righteous indignation he could feel blazing from the powerful souls surging forth to support him.

 _Your mind, Anakin_ , a part of Obi-Wan was horrified to mourn. _What has he been doing to you . . . and for years? Then, more softly: . . . what kind of Master was I to miss the signs of it?_

But that too was a thought for later.

Anchoring himself in the present, Anakin bared his teeth to accuse: “All of this has been you – from Chancellor Valorum's removal to Master Jinn's death . . . to this war, and . . .”

. . . Dooku's death, he remembered with nauseating clarity. He then understood the former Jedi's wide, disbelieving eyes when Palpatine demanded his execution. Those eyes were not from a fear of death, but from the stunning betrayal of a Master turning against their Apprentice. And why had Palpatine done so, unless . . .

. . . always two Sith, there were. _Two_.

“You wanted me to take Dooku's place,” Anakin growled. Indignation and rage - such a rage - rose in him for the thought. He had been used, manipulated, and nearly _chained_ as he'd sworn to never be again. To think that he had almost willingly stepped into the shackles Palpatine had prepared for him and _embraced_ them . . .

Everything in the room began shaking - from the ornamental statues to the heavy desk to the wide, thick transparisteel in its window panes and the very ground beneath their feet. Spidering cracks appeared in the walls, and Palpatine smiled such a smile -

“ - Anakin,” Obi-Wan stepped forward to put a comforting hand on his arm. Feeling that physical contact - the strength in his grasp and the light he shared with his mind, Anakin was brought back to himself. He checked the whirlpool of power at his fingertips . . . and made a fist to extinguish it.

“He is not worth it,” Obi-Wan spoke gently out loud. _But they are_ , he added between their minds. _Concentrate on them; focus on my voice. Breath, Anakin, and let it go._

Anakin sucked in a deep breath, and glanced again to see where Padmé had abandoned all pretense of impartiality to stare at him with her heart in her eyes. Her hands were held out before her, as if she wanted to rush to his side but could not when she was star-systems away from him. He thought he'd heard her voice, even in his haze; had she called his name?

At the thought . . . Anakin let his rage go. He let it evaporate into hurt . . . and then to grief . . . and then numb acceptance. His anger was not gone – not yet, not nearly. But, for the time being it banked . . . and that little bit was enough.

And Palpatine felt the exact moment when he lost his sway: the thorny vines choking his mind retreated, cut off at their very roots. The seeds remained - and would later need to be dealt with, yet his mind was then his own. His thoughts were free.

“You foolish boy,” Palpatine rose to his feet, all pretense of civility then gone. His face contorted into an ugly, demonic scowl as he spat, “You foolish, _trusting_ boy. So . . . it has come to this.”

“Yes – it has,” Mace Windu cut in to say. He stepped forward, physically placing himself between the revealed Sith Lord and Anakin. _To protect one of our own_ , Anakin felt the thought from Windu's mind like a tidal wave. For a moment, Anakin could not understand the sentiment, not when it was turned towards him; his balance teetered.

“Sheev Palpatine,” the Korun Jedi no longer honored him with his title. “By mandate of the Jedi Council, under the authority vested in us by the Galactic Republic, you are under arrest for treason and crimes committed against the galaxy.”

“Willingly come with us,” Yoda folded his arms to say, “and harmed, you will not be.” Silent until then, the diminutive Grandmaster was the only one who did not draw a weapon - but only a fool would think him as anything less than dangerous. Anakin could feel the awesome might of his power fill the room with a rich, heady light, further soothing the raw places left behind in his own mind. Behind him, each Master moved forward to add their own unique presence to the growing crescendo of power, and the Force all but _sang_.

“I'm sorry to disappoint you, my friends, but I find that I must decline.” With a slow, almost lazy motion, Palpatine reached down to touch the comm panel on his desk. “I have been attacked - the Jedi are attempting to stage a coup on the Senate,” he addressed his private security on the other side of the line. “Commander, execute Order 66.”

It only took a heartbeat for the office doors to fly open, and what space there was left flooded with clone soldiers. Several more troopers with red accented armor filled the hall beyond. Anakin could hear the tell-tale whine of an approaching lartie over the constant buzz of the air-lanes, and looked out the window to see gunships arrive to take up point. But, all of the lethal force then leveled at them was merely aimed; the clones were holding fire.

Just barely, Palpatine frowned, and Anakin felt his rage threaten to break forth anew as more pieces of the puzzle finally clicked into place in his mind. Palpatine had truly intended for -

\- but, in the end, it was Obi-Wan who stepped forward, apparently unconcerned with the blasters leveled at his chest to address the leading clone by name. He locked eyes with the man through the dark T shaped visor, and bid, “Commander Fox, the Supreme Chancellor is a Sith Lord and traitor to the Republic. Underneath Order 65 we are authorizing his arrest until a full investigation and trial before the Senate can be conducted. We would appreciate your men aiding us in this endeavor.”

The commander clearly hesitated – conflicted between obeying so many of his generals and obeying his commander-in-chief. Yet, he trusted the Jedi; and, when given the choice, he would prefer to arrest rather than take a life that did not need to be taken.

And Anakin watched as, slowly, the threat in the air shifted. Fox did not lower his weapon, but instead redirected it. “Your Excellency,” he still inclined his helmet in respect. “I am sorry, but you will have to come with us.”

Palpatine's expression turned from a faint frown to a full look of thunderous rage. Anakin felt his skin prickle as the _malice danger caution_ seeping from the Sith turned from threat to _intention_.

“You look surprised, Sheev,” Master Ti then chose her moment to speak. There was a rich note of satisfaction in her voice, and her words were punctuated by a high, almost triumphant trill in her own language; announcing the impending completion of a successful hunt. “It couldn't be because of _this_ , could it?”

She held up a familiar biochip between two sienna red fingertips, and, seeing it . . .

“ - that . . . how is that possible?” For the first time in Anakin's experience, Palpatine was seemingly at a loss for words. He could only growl, thwarted and incensed.

“I have held my tongue since ARC-trooper Fives was conveniently silenced by your guard,” Shaak Ti continued. Her words were low and controlled, but not a soul present doubted the righteous blaze of her indignation. Fives had been her cadet long before he was Anakin's trooper, and her grief and ire had hardened into a protective fury in her voice. No matter how intrinsic her Jedi serenity was, she was still Togruta at her core, and she had folded all of the growing clones who passed through her care into her clan. Her claws were out. “Since then, I have investigated, and set up . . . contingencies.”

“With Knight Skywalker's premonitions, and Master Kenobi's further evidence,” Plo Koon's voice was deep with a checked anger as he came to stand by Shaak's side, “we were moved to put one of those contingencies into effect.”

“A counter-signal, to be precise – overriding any activation of the chips from your office,” Obi-Wan was clearly too pleased to take up the explanation. His trademark cheek and over-familiarity were as infuriating to an enemy as ever; Palpatine was no exception. “You may remember a certain senator by the name of Garm Bel Iblis, whom your policies pushed away early on in the war; it turns out that Corellia was all too happy to lend us a hand with the more . . . delicate technical aspects of setting up such a signal. The countermeasures will stand until we can physically remove each and every biochip from our men.”

Commander Fox - who had been the one to pull the trigger on Fives - had been paying close attention, and he was far from slow. He instantly understood all of the implications . . . and repercussions involved in their words. His entire posture stiffened, and his weapon lowered just long enough for him to reach up and remove his helmet - uncharacteristically fumbling with the pressure seal as if he could not longer stand to wear it. Anakin felt something deep inside of him clench to see such a familiar face furrowed in horror – in _betrayal_ , and his heart went out to the clone.

“Sir,” Fox turned to Palpatine again. “Your Excellency,” he still struggled against what had been conditioned in him since infancy, “but . . . you said . . . ARC-trooper Fives attacked you; he was a danger to himself and others without his chip, and he had to be . . . to be neutralized.” He faltered, and his voice turned very small to whisper, “ . . . there was no choice.”

For a long moment his eyes glazed over, and then his expression sharpened. Anakin could read the intent in his eyes as he refocused his weapon and -

“No, _ad'ika_.” He reached out with the Force, ready to deflect the shot, but Shaak Ti was the one to step forward and put a gentle hand on Fox's armored shoulder before he could pull the trigger. “Not like this. He has the blood of too many on his hands to answer for so simply. We want justice, not _skira_ , no?”

“Justice,” Fox repeated dully, but he did not focus his weapon again. “Yes . . . justice.”

“Yes,” impatient with the delays, Mace Windu was the one to return them to their course. “Justice. Which means - ”

“ - oh, enough,” Palpatine finally spat in disgust. “I have entertained this . . . amusing interlude for long enough, but, now - ”

Faster than the naked eye could follow, a flash of steel glinted and then a red blade _snap-hissed_ as it sprang to life. Faster than his age and deceivingly gentle persona would first suggest, Palpatine was then airborne with an impossible corkscrewing maneuver and his lightsaber came crashing down against Windu's violet blade with a surprising display of force. Windu deflected the blow, and spun out to open up room for his fellow Jedi; the duel was on.

Yet, for their overwhelming advantage in numbers, the relatively small size of Palpatine's office proved to be their undoing. Only a Master or two at a time could move to engage the speed and ferocity of the Sith, and they had to be careful against his unchecked power while gingerly avoiding getting in the way of their comrades. The clones were delegated to simply blocking the exits – there was no way possible that they could fire into the melee, and they would be no match for the Sith Lord in closer combat – a fact which Palpatine was more than aware of, and eager to press to his advantage.

Yet, Anakin felt adrenaline thrum through his body as the Force pushed in on him, bidding that he _act_ , that he _challenge_. He slowed before joining the dogfight of controlled aerobics and staggeringly powerful blows, and instead tried to open his eyes to what the Force was trying to tell him. Palpatine was not immediately aiming for killing blows, it took Anakin a moment to understand – though he clearly had the skill to do so. His motions were conservative; his movements were controlled by a larger strategy. Slowly, deftly, he was fending off his opposition while moving backwards . . .

. . . back and back and back, until -

\- _the window_ , Anakin understood. He pushed the thought out mentally to everyone in the room instead of wasting his breath on saying the words aloud. _The window – he is trying to escape!_

Once free in Coruscant's underbelly, who knew how far Palpatine could go before he was apprehended? Who knew how many would be caught in the crossfire of such a chase, before -

\- with a wave of his hand, Palpatine chortled to unleash a massive wave of crackling blue electricity – such as Anakin had never seen before, even from the likes of Count Dooku. Reflexively, the Jedi in the room caught the blue energy, using their sabers or outstretched hands to defend themselves. Yet, for every soldier there who was blind to the ways of the Force -

\- no, Anakin thought. _No._

Without a thought for his actions, he held up his hands and willed all of the lightning to come to _him_.

At first, the maelstrom of unholy power was overwhelming. The dark energy danced over him, illuminating each still bleeding scab in his mind that Palpatine had so long tried to coerce and manipulate into action. His immaterial senses recoiled from the pressure-pain of the _yearning want greed_ that threatened to erupt within him anew, but he pushed past it. He made himself stronger than the dark – at last he understood, and even accepted his fear . . . his rage . . . his pain. Because, didn't every sentient being in the galaxy also feel the same? For he felt _love_ , as well . . . devotion . . . duty . . . _belonging_. Those things were greater than his anger, stronger than his pain . . . and when he focused on them, he felt no fear. Balance, he thought wildly, it was about _balance_.

Briefly, he remembered standing as a fulcrum for the Son and the Daughter . . . feeling the awesome might of their polar opposite powers and wielding each as if he was born to do so . . .

. . . for, in a way, he was.

Around him, the Force sang – it _soared_ – and Anakin was powerless to resist the siren's song of its call. He demanded that the lightning obey him, manipulating it without surrendering to it, channeling the dark without becoming the dark. Then, instead of merely dispersing it, he redirected it. He added his own power to it as no Jedi would dare to do for fear of staining their own souls black. He poured the overabundance of his power into the storm, and white, blindingly bright eddies of his own energy blazed amongst the crackling blue beams of the dark.

The massive outpouring of power was returned on Palpatine ten fold – throwing him back against the window and consuming him in its violence. Anakin watched as his one-time mentor's fiery eyes narrowed, filling with pain. The Sith Lord howled in agony as his skin grotesquely melted, morphing to better match the twisted creature he truly was on the inside. The window cracked against the onslaught of lightning, yet Anakin kept feeding the storm until he was certain that Palpatine could resist no longer. He would never hurt another being again; not while Anakin was there to stop him.

Yet, with the last bit of his strength, Palpatine reached behind him and struck the weakened transparisteel with the hilt of his lightsaber. The glass shattered, and a strong, stiff wind blew through the room, forcing the Jedi closest to him to brace themselves lest they be taken by the sudden change in air pressure.

Palpatine smiled, and threw himself out of the window -

\- only to be taken by the void of Coruscant, far below.

The Jedi immediately rushed to the window, and most of them jumped out to follow. Anakin was not certain if Palpatine could have survived such a fall – not with how much energy was overloading his body when he leapt. Yet, they would take no chances. They would bring him back alive, or they would bring back proof of his death. Anakin heard the whine of the gunships as they dove to pick up the airborne Jedi and then zoomed after where Palpatine had disappeared. He could hear the rest of the clones retreat from the room, already coordinating their search efforts, and, knowing that, for the moment, the situation was contained . . .

. . . Anakin finally let go of the Force, and dropped to his knees, spent.

It took a long moment for him to recover himself. His breathing was labored, and his fingertips still sparked with a potent white energy. He stared down at his hands, not yet able to believe what he'd accomplished. He was still shocked by his own actions.

When he felt he could breathe again, he glanced to see where Padmé was staring at him with wide, luminous brown eyes. He could feel her relief and her love – and even her own fierce, righteous desire to _protect_ – pulse across the vast distance between them. He felt open to the Force then as he never had before, and his new sense and understanding of the universe humbled him. He felt small; he felt indomitable; he felt _centered_. He sucked in a shaky breath, and glanced to see where Master Yoda was watching him – and Padmé too, with a thoughtful glint in his ancient green eyes. _He knows_ , Anakin realized, but the thought did not fill him with panic. Not then. Instead, he simply bowed his head in acceptance.

In the end, it was Mace Windu who helped him up. There was gratitude in his expression – and even a small, grudging amount of respect and awe. Once, Anakin would have been gratified for the recognition of his power - triumphant and proud and satisfied. Then, he simply cracked a tired, accepting smile, and concentrated instead on the relief concern love he could feel flooding in from Obi-Wan's more familiar presence within his mind. He did not protest when Obi-Wan moved to help him stand; instead, he leaned his weight against him, unsure if he could yet keep his balance on his own.

A long, stunned moment of silence passed. Then: “Knight Skywalker,” Windu rumbled, struggling to find his words. “We . . . we are in your debt.”

“No,” Anakin shook his head to forestall any further thanks. “I am a Jedi . . . it was simply my duty.”

But Mace Windu was not a foolish man in the slightest. He tilted his head to repeat, “ . . . was?” with a clear question in his voice. His eyes narrowed in a more familiar expression to Anakin's gaze.

Tall by his side, Obi-Wan helped him stand up straighter. His pride was a balm against his still bruised psyche, encouraging him to hold his head up high. Beyond him, Padmé's smile was soft with acceptance, with pride and encouragement and love. Master Yoda simply leaned forth on his gimer stick, waiting for him to confirm what he already knew.

So, Anakin looked ahead, and at last surrendered his future to admit, “Masters . . . honored members of the Council . . . there is something I have to tell you.”

 

.

.

It took the better part of a year for the Republic to reach a point where the Separatist Senate was willing to meet them for talks of peace.

It took the next three years to neutralize the straggling resistors to that peace, and the military threat they still represented on hundreds of different worlds, until, finally, the Treaty of Kalderaa was signed, effectively reuniting the seceded worlds with the Republic again.

Meanwhile, it took well over two years for the reformation of the Jedi Order to take effect . . . two long, painstaking, worthwhile years.

Now, almost four years later, Anakin Skywalker sat on the lakeside terrace of his family's Naboo home, and instructed his children in the ways of the Force.

Luke had more patience for the minutiae of moving the building blocks into place with his mind, trying to figure out how the different pieces fit together with an almost solemn sort of determination. He'd learned early on that the quicker he completed what he considered boring, then the sooner he could move on to the more interesting aspects of his training, and he admirably maintained his patience. Well . . . most of the time, that was. Other times, Luke could show his Skywalker colors with gusto – or so Padmé was wont to grumble after parenting those episodes away.

Leia, in her quest to beat her brother's time, had first rushed through the exercise and missed a piece. Now, her brow was furrowed and her power was a flare of luminescent color to his senses as she applied her mind to the problem. Feeling her triumphant burst of satisfaction for solving the puzzle, Anakin let her momentarily experience the emotion - for he was proud of her progress, after all, almost to the point of obnoxiousness when discussing his children with others - yet he recognized a growing ego when he saw one.

So.

Leia moved the last piece into place just as Anakin subtly twitched one of the base pieces, and the entire tower came tumbling down. She would have to begin again.

Yet the girl looked down at her pile of blocks, her mouth tugging a frown. Then she confidently looked him in the eye to declare, “You cheated, Papa.” - just as Luke moved his last block into place.

“Aw, c'mon, La!” her brother clapped his hands together to crow. “I think you're just sore that I won - admit it.”

“Am not,” Leia retorted, throwing her nose in the air. “I would've beaten you a whole minute ago if I didn't miss - ”

“ - alright, that's enough,” Anakin cut into the well meaning squabbling before it could escalate. He held up his hand, and, stronger than any Force trick, his children obediently quieted. “Your education is not a race; it's a journey. And I'm proud of both of you for completing the exercise.”

Luke gave a small huff of breath. “That sounds like something Uncle Obi-Wan would say.”

Almost word for word, in fact, but his son didn't need to know that; not just yet. Instead, Anakin cracked a lopsided grin to challenge, “How about you put both sets into a single tower now? I want to see if you can work together.”

Leia looked sideways at her twin, a brow arched in question; after a moment, Luke smiled. They didn't say a word aloud, but then, they didn't need too. They both held up their small hands, and, at the same time, mismatched blocks rose in the air before locking into place to form the base of the tower. Not for the first time, Anakin watched his children in wonder, quietly marveling at the unique bond pulsing between them.

He continued to watch their progress, yet he was soon distracted by his wife's voice inside the house - speaking to her mother with a note of stress coloring her words. Confident that Luke and Leia no longer required his guidance to complete the exercise, he rose from his place on the training mat and walked in to see Padmé bustling about - uncharacteristically frazzled as she went over the same list of instructions that they had already discussed with Jobal the night before . . . at length.

A far cry from the indomitable presence she normally cut in her official regalia, Padmé was only half dressed for their impending trip to Coruscant. She wore just the base layer of her rich blue gown; pearlescent white beads were intricately sewn into the brocade of her skirt, gleaming in the bright morning sunlight as the fabric fluttered to follow her step. Her hair was only partially up and styled into a matching white headpiece; the remaining curls spilled over her shoulders in careless waves. Sabé was patiently waiting for her lady with an amused expression covering any well-meaning exasperation she may have been feeling - their schedule for the day was always close enough as it was, Anakin knew. He felt his concern rise a notch.

Yet Jobal patiently listened to her daughter without a word spoken for the redundancy. Instead, there was a twinkle in her eyes as she rocked her youngest grandson in her arms. Anakin caught her gaze, and shared a rueful look; Jobal did not need the Force to silently echo her own thoughts on the matter.

An intervention was required, it seemed.

“Love,” Anakin came up behind Padmé and placed his hands on her shoulders, effectively stilling her. “Your mother has successfully raised two beautiful, healthy women - and if the twins haven't already done her in, then I'm certain she has this under control. Wouldn't you agree?”

Right on cue, Padmé's face flushed, and she clipped her speech mid-sentence. Her mouth shut with an audible click of her teeth. “I know, I know – you're right,” Padmé gave a deep exhale to calm herself. She reached up to cover his hands with her own, and squeezed. “It's only . . . I've never been away from him before.” Ruefully, she met his eyes before turning to catch her mother's sympathetic gaze – for Jobal truly did understand. Her expression was soft with pride as she looked on her daughter.

At four months old, Shmiq Skywalker was a quiet, happy babe with his father's bright blue eyes and his mother's dark brown hair. He was a calm child, docile to the point that he rarely cried – even for the things he needed, which oftentimes led to guessing games for his worried parents. Anakin could already feel the Force pooling in their son in awesome, staggering waves, so much so that it was humbling to witness as he grew. Where Luke and Leia were bright, colorful flares against his mental landscape, and Padmé a pure white light, Shmiq was a kaleidoscope of stars, always shifting and dancing across his senses. The spiritual consciousness of his family was a tapestry of awareness that defined his being; the cornerstone of his balance and contentment. He did not care to imagine the shadow that would exist in his life without them.

“I know,” Anakin finally exhaled, squeezing Padmé's shoulders one last time. “I don't like it any more than you do – but it's only for a five-day. We'll be back before you know it.”

“It's only a few days,” Padmé glumly echoed. “Not long at all.” But her voice lacked conviction; her eyes were still locked on her son, content and cradled in her mother's arms.

It was just a five-day, but an important few days for both Padmé and the Republic as a whole. When the truth of their marriage at last came to light, the story was at first a shock and a scandal across all of the major news cycles. As predicted, Naboo's queen did ask her to step down from her seat in the Senate, and an ethics panel was convened to review her conduct. Yet, the HoloNet eventually turned out to be their unexpected ally. After years of war, the galaxy was all too eager to welcome something good coming out of the mess of broken families and recovering star-systems galaxy-wide, from the Core to the Outer Rim. There was a love story to be found in two people who hid their relationship to remain true to their duty as well as to their hearts, and the newscasters ran wild with the story. They eagerly embellished the forbidden nature of their romance, and effectively turned their family into a symbol of the rosy, peaceful days ahead as the Republic took a serious look at its innermost self and went about making changes for the better.

At first, Padmé was simply grateful for the time off from her political career, as it allowed her to be a devoted mother throughout the twins' infancy. Yet Anakin could see how her enforced idleness eventually chafed at her when there was simply _so much to do_ following the end of the war. It was not at all a surprise to him when Bail Organa - the newly appointed Supreme Chancellor, following the elections that ousted Mas Amedda's temporary stewardship - asked Padmé to be his Special Adviser to the Chancellor's Office, and used her as his far-reaching hand in conducting peace talks with the Separatists. With her children and husband in tow, Padmé became instrumental in repairing the burned bridges and soothing the ruffled feathers that were at the root of the Separatist worlds' defection in the first place. She went from being a moralistic and outspoken Senator, respected on both sides of the war, to an Angel of Peace in the eyes of the galaxy, and the HoloNet took great delight in dubbing her as such.

Once peace with the Separatists was officially declared, Padmé did not campaign to represent her planet in the Senate again. Instead, she used her new-found influence and further reaching sphere of power to push her own personal projects through in the Senate as part of the chancellor's staff. Now free to lobby without a planet weighing her down and coloring perception of her motives, she took on the mantle of several special interest causes – from seeing war refuges returned to their homes, to the GAR/Jedi Reformation Act, to demanding equal sentential rights and financial compensation for the clone soldiers who survived the war.

Her last push for supporters, and the final outcome of the Clone Rights Bill was Padmé's primary reason for traveling to Coruscant now, and Anakin with her. The impending trip offworld would be their first time away from the children since Shmiq was born, and Anakin didn't care for that aspect of their journey any more than Padmé.

Once on Coruscant, Padmé would also inform Bail Organa that she would be unable to run with him as his Vice Chair in the upcoming reelection for the chancellery. While Anakin knew that Padmé had political aspirations of her own, she would not sacrifice her children to her ambition – especially with Shmiq being so tenderly young in age. She still had more than enough time to cast her eyes upwards; there was no need to vault through the ranks when she already walked the fine line between her career and her family with such a careful balance. Though Anakin had resolutely kept his opinion out of the equation, and encouraged her to come to her own conclusion, he was happy with the choice she'd made. He was proud to call such an amazing woman his wife.

For the time being, however, thoughts of politics and the greater good were far from Padmé's mind as she took her son from Jobal. She leaned down to bury her nose against his cheek, and breathed in deep of his sweet baby scent. Shmiq cooed, content in his mother's arms, and Padmé only held him tighter. Anakin stood close enough to touch them both, and committed every sensation of the moment to memory. Shmiq already pushed back against his mental presence with all of the simple trust and affection his developing mind could muster, and Anakin felt something deep inside his heart clench.

But the soft family moment was interrupted by the sound of Threepio announcing visitors at the door, and, like a cork popping from a bottle of Daruvvian champagne, the twins raced in from the terrace, their training blocks forgotten. Anakin didn't bother checking their exuberance besides a simple _no running in the house!_ that he projected directly into their minds – he couldn't when he too caught sense of the visitors' identities. As recognition set in, he had just a moment to receive and return his Master's mental greeting before Obi-Wan's attention was completely taken by the children, and he became an afterthought.

“Uncle Obi-Wan! Uncle Obi-Wan!”

Following more sedately behind his children, Anakin could not tell one giddy voice from the other as Luke and Leia ran up to greet the elder Jedi. Obi-Wan looked torn as he grinned down at the children, but his indecision was solved when Leia held up her arms expectantly. No matter that she was almost four, and beginning to frown on such affection from her parents, she wanted Obi-Wan to pick her up and spin her about – and Obi-Wan was all too happy to oblige.

“Hello, my little princess!” Obi-Wan enthused, his expression beaming with joy as Leia pecked a kiss against his bearded cheek.

“Uncle Obi-Wan!” Leia's expression scrunched up in a piqued look that was all her mother. “I've told you before, I'm not a princess.”

“Hm, I don't know about that,” Obi-Wan pretended to consider. “You are the daughter of a queen, are you not?”

“An _elected_ queen,” Leia reminded him, carefully forming the syllables of the newly learned word. “And I don't want to be a queen, I want to work in the Senate, like ma'ma.”

“Well then, let me just say that you are _my_ princess. Perhaps we can reach a compromise on that?” Obi-Wan could not help but grin as he put her down. He met Anakin's eyes in delight, and softly added, “And if it is the Senate you seek, I believe that you can do anything you put your mind to.”

 _Yet, is the Senate ready for her?_ even so, Obi-Wan could not help but add between their minds – where an easy, open bond existed since Palpatine's reveal. _She'll take them all by storm, I foresee._

 _I don't know_ , Anakin answered truthfully, _but I can't wait to find out._

Obi-Wan snorted in amusement, but his attention did not last as he dropped down to ruffle Luke's already messy hair in an equally enthusiastic greeting. Obi-Wan wasted no time in asking of the child's progress with the model R-22 Spearhead fighter he was building, and Luke gushed to tell him about the project with an attention to detail that did Anakin's own flying heart proud. The boy looked ready to remain on his tangent, but Luke's attention did not – or, could not, rather – remain with Obi-Wan long when the Jedi Master's remaining two traveling companions came into the foyer.

Just as Luke did, Anakin glanced up when he felt Ahsoka Tano's familiar presence brush across his senses. Widely grinning, he opened his mouth to greet both she and Rex – but his children beat him to it. Once again, his own welcome was pushed aside, and he was forced to wait.

“'soka, 'soka!” Luke gleefully called as he darted up to the Togruta woman, his joy a dancing light in the Force.

“Ba'vodu!” Leia echoed her brother to happily chirp. Her braids bounced over her shoulders as she bobbed in excitement. “You're here! You're here!”

“Skykids!” Ahsoka's delight was as vibrant as the twins' as she dropped down to scoop Luke up and spin him in a wild circle. Leia was only a moment behind her brother, and Ahsoka snatched her up too, holding both children close at the same time. Her azure eyes were bright, and the bands of color on her lekku flushed a rich shade of indigo as she gave a happy, trilling welcome in her own tongue. Rex patiently waited next to Ahsoka for his turn with the children, and then fondly enveloped them in warm hugs of his own – a soft, pleased expression on his face that only the twins ever seemed to inspire.

All the while, Anakin stood back and watched the happy scene with a warm glow in his heart. The picture of his family - his entire family - in one place, together, was simply right to his eyes; necessary, even. Having changed from her GAR ensemble for the journey to Coruscant, Ahsoka wore one of Padmé's recent gifts: a long, sleeveless blue robe over a belted, pearlescent white dress. The burnt-orange of her bare arms was dramatic and exotic against the white, and offset by the deep, cobalt shade of the blue. High slits in the sides of the dress showed her supple leggings and the lightsabers she still had strapped to her body – giving her a look that was both classically elegant and alluringly dangerous all at once. The coloring of her wardrobe matched Padmé's for the trip to Coruscant – and Rex's too, for that matter. On that note, Anakin reminded himself with a sigh, he too would have to change before leaving. Padmé had been very clear on that regard: _no black_. Politics was all a game of appearances, and that included him as long as he stood by his wife's side.

“You've grown so tall – the both of you,” Ahsoka rocked back on her heels to remain at eye level with the twins – drawing Anakin's attention again. Her teeth were sharp and white as she grinned. “You'll be as tall as your dad in no time! When did that happen?” At the open invitation in her words, Luke and Leia both gushed to fill their honorary aunt in on everything she'd missed since her last visit. Their voices were a happy chatter in Anakin's ears as Obi-Wan stepped over to him, a faintly miffed expression souring his face.

“I,” the Jedi Master declared, a note of exaggerated sullenness to his voice, “have been forgotten, it would seem.”

“Sorry, Master – but she's my favourite too,” Anakin could not help but tease with a wink. “Don't worry, though – you're a very close second.” He felt as Obi-Wan pushed him with the Force in playful retaliation, but managed to keep his feet. “Besides, you'll have time to pull ahead on Ossus. You'll even out the score in no time, I'm sure.” While Obi-Wan would be taking Luke and Leia to the Jedi Temple to further their training while their parents were away, Ahsoka and Rex would be coming to Coruscant with them to hopefully see their long, painstaking efforts over the Clone Rights Bill finally pay off.

It was a fitting end to a long, arduous journey, Anakin could not help but think. After successfully ending the Siege of Mandalore and subsequently taking Darth Maul into custody – a feat none of the Jedi before her had managed to accomplish – the Council had extended their invitation, again, for Ahsoka to return to the Jedi Order. At the time, Ahsoka had still turned them down, but she did accept the GAR's offer of sharing command of the 501st with Rex when Anakin was drawn from active duty following the revelation of his family and his loss of privileges within the Jedi Order. Rather than serving as a Jedi General, however, she operated as a military officer, and a military officer only, and it was her example within the GAR that prompted a great deal of their reformations following the war - namely: returning the Jedi to their roles of peacekeepers, and peacekeepers only.

After much debating - a debate that Anakin would fully admit to instigating and then pushing after his own rights as a Jedi were stripped - a reformation of the Jedi Order was finally agreed to. The Jedi had grown too entwined with the politics of the Senate over the last thousand years; dangerously so. No matter that there should always be a certain level of cooperation between the Republic and the Jedi, they'd lost their path; they'd sank in too deeply, enmeshing themselves to the point that they were powerless to maintain their mandate when events inevitably spiraled outwards beyond their control. While masterfully being manipulated by a proponent of the Dark Side, they'd forgotten what it meant to be Jedi, and serve the will of the Force before any political organization. After much deliberation, the Temple was returned to its ancient seat on Ossus, far from directly overseeing the politics of the capital, and there the Jedi devoted themselves to being Jedi, first and foremost, before acting as servants of the Republic.

When Anakin's own example was eventually emulated as one to follow - with his family proving to be the impetus that helped him resist the Dark Side, rather than the anchor pulling him under - the ancient dogmas of the Jedi Order were at last reexamined. Refusing to fully live, as the Force rejoiced in, all for fear of the Dark Side, was just another form of surrendering to the Dark. Taking children from their families to cloister them away from elements that could eventually lead to the Dark Side, too, was also flawed thinking: it cut at the very heart of the living Force. After reevaluating themselves, the Jedi Temple truly became a seat of knowledge and shared wisdom, with growing children traveling to and from their families to master their gifts and then choosing whether or not to stay on to their Knighthood when the time came.

Underneath such an arrangement, even those with scant Force abilities were now allowed to train for a season or so, all to better understand their place within the Force, and contribute to the greater good of the galaxy as a whole. With such age-old strictures finally lifted, other Force wielding civilizations and orders also passed through Ossus for the joy of sharing their knowledge and discovering new aspects of the Force in their turn. Healers, historians, scientists, philosophers, architects, farmers, diplomats – all were needed by the galaxy, and with the constrictions of a Jedi's lifestyle finally lifted, their numbers swelled before being reintroduced back into the general populace again. At last, the Jedi were truly bringing balance to the Force with their roles, as they always should have done.

Of course, there would always be conflicts in the galaxy, and the Senate still sent Jedi Knights and their Padawans on peacekeeping missions to mediate and negotiate whenever neutral third parties were needed. That role of the Jedi Order would never change. Yet, when a stronger hand was needed, and righteous violence was inevitable – well, that was where the GAR came in. Now, the mantle of a soldier was one a Jedi could choose, and they could enter the military as cadets and rise through the ranks the same as any other citizen of the Republic. There was no favoritism in the military any longer, and the thousands of Jedi - and their Padawans, especially - who never should have exposed themselves to the rigors of combat in the first place were shielded from such an unnatural calling. Meanwhile, hundreds of Jedi like Ahsoka thrived in the army, and found their niche with the structure and order and honor inherent in defending their Republic from harm. They would never be caught unaware and overwhelmed by an outside threat ever again.

As his reflections took him, Anakin knew that he was staring, but he was proud of his former apprentice – and he couldn't keep his affection from showing in his gaze. Ahsoka had matured in leaps and bounds over the last four years, and she'd grown into a remarkable, beautiful woman. With the same fierce tenacity of her youth now honed and cultivated into a blade-sharp weapon by experience, her voice had been amongst the loudest to demand the division of peacekeepers and warriors within the Jedi Order. As a result, a great deal of the GAR/Jedi Reconstruction Act had her fingerprints all over it. Now, as the Jedi Council's official representative to the GAR, she'd proven to be as instrumental to the Clone Rights Bill as she was to their first motion in the Senate.

The Clone Rights Bill, Anakin thought next – fondly watching as his former captain interacted with the twins - was not only a matter of honor and principle, but a personal crusade in the purest sense, as well.

At the beginning of their campaign, now over a year ago, Padmé had been quick to declare that the people needed to see the clones as living, breathing men if they were going to win any sort of public favor. To realize that goal, the white, faceless armor had to go while they were on tour. Padmé had chosen Rex to stand as her figurehead for all of the _vod'e_ , and the clone captain could scarce say no when asked. Anakin had never seen Rex more uncomfortable than when Ukla – Padmé's Chandra-Fan seamstress and wardrobe designer – bustled about him, taking measurements and chatting about fabrics and patterns and color palettes with a practiced air. The tiny non-human had ordered the veteran soldier around with almost comical ease, but won herself a fast friend when she suggested keeping the 501st blue as a focal-point of her design. By the end of the process, Anakin had even accused Rex of enjoying himself – no matter that Rex's discomfort quickly returned with the amount of attention he received as they traveled from one Core world to the next to drum up votes for their cause. The first time Ahsoka followed Padmé's speech to speak of her own experiences with the 501st, only Rex's strict military training kept him from fidgeting in place; yet, by the end of the tour, he held up his head proudly, and accepted the praise that was truly due to he and his men by right.

Yet it was their long-term goal that primarily helped Rex stand up as an individual, not just one of many, Anakin suspected. There was already a clone colony growing on Mandalore for those who wished to live apart from the general populace of the galaxy - following Skirata's group as a mold, and many more were already making plans for what they'd do when released from the military. Kix, Anakin knew, wanted to go to medical school on Alderaan as soon as the vote passed, to augment his battlefield education, while Jesse already had several galleries clamoring for his artwork with the galactic populace now curious about clone culture in general. Others, however, like Cody and Rex, could scarce imagine – and did not quite relish – the idea of leaving the GAR behind. It was all they'd ever known, and they reveled in their calling. _“Who will watch your back, General, if not for us?”_ Rex had been unable to contemplate any other course in life, and so, he would not. They would continue on as paid soldiers with the rights of any other Republic citizen, however . . . and they would do so for a natural lifespan. Although it had taken time, and no small amount of bullying, Shaak Ti had worked very closely with the Kaminoan scientist Ko Sai, and they finally developed an answer to the clones' unnatural aging. They would not grow old and waste away before their time. They were no longer weapons to be thrown away once their usefulness had expired.

Ahsoka had been very, very quiet the day the serum had been finalized, Anakin remembered - as if trying to hold in some great emotion. Her chevrons had turned a deep and vibrant shade of blue, and her eyes had shone with happy tears - no matter that, for all of their years together, Anakin had never once seen her cry. In the Force, her spirit had rippled as if a door had been opened before her, and she had smiled such a smile.

Now, he watched the way she rested a hand on Rex's shoulder – lingering for just a moment too long to be considered casual . . . and wondered. Anakin still didn't know what to think about the recent-most development between his captain and apprentice – he'd honestly been blind to the possibility before Padmé mentioned her observations as if they were the most natural thing in the galaxy, and . . . perhaps, in a way, they were.

Yet . . . still. He felt his stomach turn, and wondered how he'd feel when Leia finally decided to bring a suitor home -

\- but no. _No._ He put that thought in a box and shoved it deep down in his psyche, where it would hopefully stay for another twenty years. Thirty, even. _Fifty_ , hopefully.

His thoughts - thankfully - were turned from such a disturbing path when he heard Luke try to cajole: “Are we really too young for training sabers, 'soka? Are we?”

“Do you think that because your father said no, you can ask me?” Ahsoka arched a white brow marking to return. “I don't think so, Skykid. You'll get your sabers when you're ready, and not a moment before.”

“I don't know,” Rex countered - looking down on Luke and Leia the same way he would a pair of shinies, judging their potential worth on the field with a tactical eye. “We were training with vibro-shivs when we were four, and no one lost their fingers.” The _often, at least_ went unspoken, and Anakin swallowed a purely parental protest. There would be no gifts of weapons before the twins turned five, at the _very_ least.

“Your four is not the twins' four, cyar'ika,” Ahsoka rolled her eyes. She swatted at Rex's shoulder affectionately. “Besides,” she sniffed almost haughtily to say, “my future apprentice is not going to train with _knives_.”

Obi-Wan glanced over from where he was taking his turn holding Shmiq, and quietly chatting with Padmé and Jobal. He couldn't help but interject, “ _My_ future apprentice will be able to talk circles around them all – she won't even need a sword.” He glanced down at Leia, and winked. “Isn't that right?”

The girl all but beamed at his words. And, yet: “That doesn't mean I can't have a lightsaber, though. Right, Uncle Obi-Wan?”

“See?” Obi-Wan smirked in pride, passing Shmiq back to his mother. “Such a skilled negotiator she already is.”

Anakin snorted - already well able to imagine such a future to come. Though he currently floated between the various branches of the Jedi Order as needed, and hesitated to commit to any particular course in life – he wondered if the future would bring to him another apprentice, as well. There was a red headed orphan girl that Luke and Leia - and Anakin himself - had taken a liking to at the Jedi Temple, whom the future already pooled around in a hazy whisper of potential. Mara Jade was a slip of a thing who'd been born amongst the worst of the war, mute and lost in her own mind when Master Billaba and her Padawan initially brought her to Ossus. She'd latched onto Anakin's mental presence when he first met her, however, and, through him, Luke and Leia were still the only two children she was completely comfortable with, even a full year later. Seeing her was always a highlight of the twins' time spent at the Temple – and Anakin's, as well.

Which was for the best, he instinctively felt. They would eventually need every strong hand with a sword, a part of Anakin whispered – warned . . . _knew_. For, out there, somewhere . . .

All of those years ago, they had failed to find Palpatine's body in the underbelly of Coruscant. Though many on the Council believed him dead, there were others who were not quite certain. Anakin was one of that latter number – he could feel an echo of Palpatine's survival as an itching against the scars lining his mind, and he knew that the Sith Lord was a figure in the shadows, patiently waiting to reveal himself. Besides standing as a guard for his wife on her diplomatic missions, and helping with the reformation of the Jedi Order, the search for Palpatine had been his project since he was first revealed as Darth Sidious. In those early days, his search had him following whispers of the Dark Side from one end of the galaxy to the next, dragging him – with Obi-Wan by his side – through more near-disasters and close calls than he cared to remember. But their ultimate goal remained just beyond their reach: Palpatine was always one step ahead of them, and remained elusively out of their grasp.

Even so, Anakin knew that it was only a matter of time before Palpatine emerged from the shadows - even if that time was years. Yet, he refused to give into the threat posed by the Dark Side and not live his life to the fullest. So, until that time came . . .

. . . he cast his eyes from his comrades to his children to his wife, still cradling their youngest son in her arms, and wondered: what more could he ask for than this? Anakin felt his heart swell as he contemplated his blessings - for he was all too aware of just how easily everything he cherished could have amounted to nothing. He glimpsed that dark, far off fate at night when he closed his eyes. But he breathed in deep, and exhaled, knowing: that future was not his own. Instead he focused on the here and now; he centered himself, and lived in the moment.

Padmé caught his eye, and raised a dark brow as she sensed the undercurrent of his thoughts. She knew him too well.

“What are you thinking about, Ani?” she asked, shifting Shmiq in her arms.

“You,” Anakin answered truthfully. “Us,” he added on a whisper. “All of us.” He couldn't keep the warmth from his eyes; his mouth formed a slow smile as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. The Force swirled around them in lazy contentment, languid and bright to Anakin's senses.

“Mm,” Padmé hummed in the back of her throat. “All are happy thoughts, then?” she still had to make sure.

“The best,” he assured her, firmly pushing away his visions of another time . . . another place. The echoed notes of some far off song. “There's nothing more I could have asked for from life.”

Padmé simply smiled up at him, her heart in her eyes. With such an invitation, Anakin could not help but kiss his wife – briefly and happily before turning his attention back to the rest of his family. Looking at each content, joyful expression, he let his eyes linger on his children, already marveling at the bright, awesome destines he could glimpse for them through the Force. They had such a path carved before them, he could not help but sense, and he'd be there to guide and advise them every step of the way.

There was no possible path in life he could have preferred to the one he walked, Anakin could admit that simple most truth with pride. He was living the life he was meant to live.

 

 

.

.

Anakin Skywalker dreamed . . .

. . . and Darth Vader awakened.

 

 

.

.

The Force moved in turbulent, roiling waves since the destruction of Alderaan. The incorporeal entity was distressed to feel a void where, once, a planet teaming with life had existed; it undulated to fill that nothingness with its shock and thunderous outrage. There was a hole in the cosmos that night, and the galaxy turned in on itself as if trying to stem the flow of a wound. It struggled to spin with its equilibrium thrown off balance, as if adjusting to the birth of a new star or the death of an ancient supernova; the living Force _screamed_ , pained and incensed at its loss.

The Dark Side, of course, rejoiced in the rippling aftereffects pulsating from the violence of Alderaan's destruction. Darth Vader could still feel echoes of panic and terror whispering from the decimated planet; he could feel as bruise-like spots of mourning grew in the Force like stains, blooming from an uncountable number of survivors and onlookers the entire galaxy wide. It was a good day for the Empire, he was content to know, a day that put them one step closer to peace - true and uncontested peace - as their grip on the galaxy tightened.

Even so, as he roused himself from the sleep his remaining organic tissue still required . . . a part of him could only remember the princess' wide, horrified eyes as she watched her planet's destruction. She had not blinked; she had not looked away. Her shoulders had trembled underneath his iron grip, but she had not wept – not where the likes of Tarkin could see her grief, at least. Instead, she had stubbornly held back her tears, standing regal and tall only through the force of her rage, righteous and indignant as it was. From her spirit, such a powerful wave of disbelief and agony had swelled – so much so that Vader had eventually tightened his grip on her to anchor himself, rather than to keep her from moving. The Dark Side had reveled in her pain; Darth Vader had known satisfaction that she at last understood that the seeds rebellion sewed were only loss and destruction. There could be no victory reaped against the Emperor. Not this way.

Yet . . . a whisper of Anakin Skywalker had risen from the depths of his psyche in response to the outpouring of grief from the girl's soul. That thread of warmth, of _light_ , had tried to pierce through the thick black of his consciousness in outrage, with hands outstretched to defend, to _protect_. Darth Vader had banked the resurgence of his former self with no small amount of annoyance, wondering why then, of all times, he would be drawn to remember a past that no longer mattered; a past that had no bearing on the here and now.

. . . even though almost twenty years had passed, he could still recall Padmé's eyes, reflecting the hellish fires of Mustafar, terrified and disgusted by the lengths he had taken to secure the galaxy for her . . . for their child. What would she think of the destruction of Alderaan? Of the death of the Organas, whom she had loved? Of Princess Leia's pain, even, who reminded him so much of his lost wife that he -

\- but Vader extinguished his thoughts with a low exhale of wheezing breath. Sharply, he gestured for the medical droids to bring him his mask. He was frustrated with himself, with the glaring reminder of his weaker self, and his rage pooled black and thick in the sterile chamber. It had been some time since he last allowed himself to remember Anakin Skywalker's wife and child; his potential family. Darth Vader did not pay much thought to his former life; Anakin Skywalker had been a weak shell of a man, unable to do what was necessary to restore peace and order to the galaxy. Darth Vader entertained no such illusions.

Inorganic organs and steel bones in a shell of black leather and faceless plastoid - all bound together by rage, by pain, by a deep, bitter _disgust_ ; that was Darth Vader, and he accepted the finality of his identity. There was no place for Anakin Skywalker's softness, his weakness in such a form – not while the Emperor's hand was still wrapped about the galaxy in a chokehold. This galaxy was one he'd devoted his life to, and if others had to lose as he had lost to see it protected from any further harm – well then, so be it.

Yet, no matter his most stringent efforts, Anakin Skywalker still dreamed – he yearned, and Darth Vader was forced to suffer through his visions of another time, another place. The dreams had lessened in frequency over the years, yet it was worse aboard the Death Star, and, since Alderaan . . .

So many faces crossed his mind's eye at night; old friends, long gone, all turned to traitors, to ghosts . . . to enemies.

His former mentor.

His apprentice.

His captain.

His _wife_.

. . . and his child . . . . his children. What a curious thing his sleeping mind tried to suggest. Anakin Skywalker had always battled with an overabundance of dreams, with visions, and they remained as frustratingly vague now as they ever were. Darth Vader could only recall bits and pieces – glimpses, incomplete and insensible, detailing the impossible, the _ridiculous_. He grit his metal plated jaw in frustration, and felt his remaining teeth grind.

The black shell of his mask at last clicked into place, sealing him from the outside world, and Vader dismissed his artificial attendants with a gesture. The harsh, deep sound of his breathing filled the room, louder than the hiss of steam and the whine of the hydraulic arms as the pressurized chamber released him to prowl through what remained of the space station's night. He would not find sleep again that eve.

Long strides took him through the mostly deserted corridors. The unlucky crewmen he did pass bowed low in reverence, and their fear was a pulsing balm to the wounds left by Anakin Skywalker's attempted resurgence in his mind. He gorged himself on their terror and respect, and let the Dark anchor him. Eventually, his path took him to one of the viewing rooms, where the long transparisteel windows showed the remaining cloud of debris and atmospheric gas that was left of Alderaan. The distant sunlight glittered on the nebulous cloud in a hauntingly beautiful play of light and color. Soon, even those gases would disperse into the vastness of space, and only dead stone would remain where once a planet had thrived.

It was a fitting memorial to the price treachery paid, Darth Vader crossed his arms to reflect. Rebellion had to be met with a ruthless and firm hand; betrayal could not be born.

_Betrayal._

Darth Vader had tasted the bitter drought of treachery time and time again . . . he'd drank deep from a cup prepared by every soul Anakin Skywalker had once loved - with one after another refusing to stand by his side, time and time again . . . from Obi-Wan, leaving him as a shell in which to burn instead of ending his misery with typical Jedi mercy . . . to Padmé, refusing to stand by his side and instead choosing to follow him, him, and taking their child with her in death . . . to his apprentice, who had shouldered the Rebellion's mantle in its earliest days and forced his hand to raise against her in violence . . . to his captain, who could not follow orders and put the girl down when he was first supposed to, all those years ago. He too now aided the Rebels in a gross mockery of everything they'd once fought for, together. Traitors, all of them were, and Anakin Skwalker - _Darth Vader_ was better off without them. He did not need them; he needed only the Dark Side of the Force as his ally to do what must be done.

Then . . . when Sidious was at last toppled from power and the galaxy was freed from his tyranny, perhaps then Anakin Skywalker would allow him to dream in peace.

Yet, until that day came . . . Darth Vader simply stared out at the graveyard of Alderaan in silence. He listened as the Force whispered - warned - of a shifting note in its song . . . and remembered.


End file.
